#corn: public enemy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ataraxiaspainting · 6 months

Text

Hier Encore II.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore I.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), forced tattooing, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, mentions of starvation, some minor Hunter x Hunter spoilers, violence, Hisoka showing up sorry about that in advance, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 13.7k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

ii. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies. You’re happy here, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage. You’re happy here, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is always carrying gifts for you–lovingly ignoring your pleas to better learn how to budget his money–cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan… your favorites. His too.

You hope he’s happy here with you too.

He says he does.

*~*~*~*

“Where do you want it? The neck, the leg? Lower, higher?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but exhaustion and annoyance overtook it halfway.

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you lay on your stomach, the plastic beneath you crinkling. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song was at, and also because of how loud the tattoo artist was as she asked Chrollo a few questions.

“The lower back.” he touches it with his cold finger, almost making you jump and run out of that parlor. “Somewhere around here.”

You try to close your eyes and imagine you are anywhere else in the world. Even a sketchy bar would be better than this tattoo parlor because at least then you could leave with no pain in your body.

“Okay.”

“Thirty thousand Jenny, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You hear a large bag filled with coins being placed on the table. The same bag that made the owner of this place go on his knees and kept repeating that there was no appointment necessary anymore. While the sound of money jingling would make anyone feel happy, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. No one will ever know though, because you keep your mouth shut unless you have to say something sweet. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I’ll pass.”

“Alright then. Are you going to use a stencil first to show me what it would look like? I think that would be best.”

You hear a tired sigh. “If that’s what you want. I’ll take it out.”

Your legs want to run. Your heart wants to burst out of your chest. Your eyes want tears to come out in rivers. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Here we are.”

You feel thermal paper going on the spot just above where your butt is.

“Looks good.” Chrollo hums, pleased. “Behave. I’ll be back soon.”

His voice is soft but still firm. He steps toward you and squeezes your hand lightly, his thumb rubbing circles around it. He hums again. You can only see his shoes from this angle, but you know he is smiling. You want to scream, but you can’t.

You nod, still not talking. You hear a praise leave his lips, but you’re too scared to pay attention. He thanks the tattoo artist and leaves. The door shuts behind him quietly. For a brief moment, you sigh with relief.

The tattoo artist also sighs. There is a nervous chuckle that escapes both of your mouths, the type where both of you know what would happen if either of you were to step out of line. You try to move your neck upwards to look at the posters on the wall. Most are Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, with a few of Audrey Hepburn. The largest poster is of the 1953 film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, with Monroe and Russell dancing above the title in revealing magician outfits.

The tattoo artist turns the dial on the radio, putting on I Put A Spell On You instead, which you'd rather listen to.

The tattoo artist leans in closer and talks to you in a whisper. "I'm so sorry about this. I had to do it."

Your eyes are wide, but you manage to keep your calm. Your fingers are shaking. Chrollo's voice is in your head, telling you to be still or he'll know. You do your best to ignore it as the tattoo needle stabs your back, sending shivers down your spine.

The entire process takes five hours, with you zoning out after about twenty minutes.

The tattoo artist lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in her chair. "We're done, darling. I hope you're satisfied with your new tattoo."

You're exhausted. Your back feels numb. You have zero interest in looking at your new tattoo. You just want to leave.

Chrollo walks through the door with an even bigger smile on his face. "Ah, she's done, is she? Let me take a look."

He walks closer and sees the spider web tattoo, the number zero being on top of it.

"Beautiful. Your tattoo looks amazing, darling." Chrollo stares deeply into your eyes. "Now, would you mind standing up so I can see you in full?"

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops as you stand up.

Chrollo looks from your head to your feet as you stand. With every inch of your body, he smiles more deeply. "You look amazing, my dear. Stunning." He runs his smooth fingers across your skin, tracing the design of your tattoo. "Well, I'm satisfied with your new tattoo." He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door. "Now, let's head back to the room. Don't you need to sleep? It's been a tiring day."

He stares at your tattoo one last time before reaching out and touching your back, tracing the black spiderweb pattern. You want to cry, but you can’t. You feel both the physical and mental pain silencing you. So, all you do is nod.

Nothing is worth the risk.

The tattoo artist doesn’t look at either of you because of the intense guilt she feels.

The December weather outside only makes you want to shiver more.

Life is death. Death is a blessing that allows the weak to rest. Death is life. Life is a curse that allows only the strong to reap the rewards.

*~*~*~*

Even after all this time since the incident happened, your lower back still hurts.

It burns whenever you touch it–like your skin is on fire–but it may be more mental than physical.

There is no scarring, thankfully, and because it is on your lower back, it can easily be hidden. Perhaps that was the point of the placement, for only if you do not have a long shirt or high-waisted pants would anyone see it; and only Chrollo was the only one you were allowed to be nude with, not that you had any choice.

It is the 21st of October, 1998. Sebaste now sleeps in the same bed as you. He talks in his sleep sometimes, about celebrating Halloween with you or his mother. It’s cute, you think. The photo frame beside the bed has a Polaroid photo of you and him, both smiling brightly. It’s a gift from his mother to you in more ways than one. Whenever your paranoia is set off, you hold it in your arms until you have calmed down.

You loved Robin like you would your mother, and aside from Sebaste, she was the only one you would regularly talk to. She is kind to you, and once gave you hand-carved furniture as a gift when Sebaste first introduced you to her as his girlfriend. On colder days she brings you a pot of her homemade pumpkin soup and chatters away as soon as she sets foot in your home. She was talkative, very talkative, which funnily enough contrasts with Sebastian's introversion.

*~*~*~*

“What will you do to stop people from knowing I am still alive?”

The question you asked, mere days into your kidnapping, came when you were lying down, restrained. You did not mean to sound aggressive, but you think you did by accident. Your nervousness is making you lose your touch, it seems.

“If you would like to know, my dear, I shall tell you.” Your captor responds, sitting on a chair beside the bed.

You want to scream for help. You want to demand him to take the silk binds off of you and run for the hills. But you can’t, because you know it would be useless. You have to wait for the right moment.

“I want to know.”

A book covers the lower part of his face, but his eyes still look down on you from your helpless position. The Brothers Karamazov. How fitting.

“We will request more money for your release.” Even though you cannot see half of his face, you know he is smiling from how pleased his voice sounds. “So much money that the authorities will simply give up on you, money that simply cannot be paid.”

Here you are, with a silk scarf tied around your wrists, not too tight but not too loose, and another binding your legs. He got rid of the handcuffs when he returned with you to a penthouse, wanting in some sense to make sure you were at least partially comfortable. Perhaps the handcuffs were just to ensure the public thought that you were a hostage taken for ransom.

“Four million, sixteen million, perhaps twenty million for just a cut of your hair, maybe fifty million for a photo of you in your presumed last moments.” There is a pause, with you finally being able to hear your rapid heartbeat hidden behind a mask of calmness. “They will give up on you eventually, and the world will continue to go on as it always has.”

You silently wish that you could turn your hearing off like a light. There is such depravity, devotion, and greediness in his tone.

“Maybe they won’t.” Your eyes keep moving around the room to avoid his intense stare from above. “Maybe they’ll know whatever body you plant is fake. Maybe they’ll locate me. Maybe they’ll… they’ll pay everything off.”

“That does not seem plausible, my sweet.”

You are holding back a sea of tears.

“Even though you think so, there is quite a small chance that will happen. That chance will only dwindle as the price increases, I am afraid. Money is far more important to governments than human lives in all cases. You know that, don’t you?” Chrollo says, his voice slightly teasing, turning a page of his book. “Perhaps it is for the best that they think you are dead though, angel, with all of the… dealings you have done when you thought no one was watching. You are quite resourceful. It’s something we have in common, you know.”

You know that you’ll only make this situation worse if you try to fight back anymore.

You just look up at the ceiling and count the tiles, waiting for the moment he unties you.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

*~*~*~*

You liked gardening before your capture, and still do. As a hobby, you grow plants that are suitable for the fall setting. You cook with them when they have matured enough, or give them to Robin if you have too much of them. You especially like yams because they can be cooked into both sweet and savory dishes. A duplex trait you love.

It keeps your mind off of Chrollo.

You got yourself a new watering can recently. It can hold more water for your plants and it is prettier than your old one. It is a metal one, the spout rose freshly cleaned from rust by your gloved hands scrubbing for what felt like a millennium. It was worth it. The water compartment has purple lilies and white jasmine flowers on its bottom half. There are also a few butterflies, bees, and praying mantises among them. It’s cute and comforting to you.

This new life is also just as cute and comforting to you. You feel a sense of stability now that you aren’t forced to go from place to place by your captor or in fear of being caught by him. There is a sweetness and simplicity to it all. You get better sleep now that you share a bed with someone you love rather than someone you hate with all your being. You wear sweaters and sweatpants instead of those revealing shirts and short skirts, being free to dress warmly for once. Even when you were given tights as a reward for good behavior, they always were not nearly enough to make you stop shivering. Whenever you go to a clothing store in the town you avoid the section with clothes that are meant to show off collarbones or thighs. You’d rather die than wear them, even in the scorching heat of the summer months, bearing the rolls of sweat that appear on your face and your back.

*~*~*~*

The clothes are too tight. It’s hard to walk like this.

Everything itches.

You would love nothing more than to take your clothes off right here.

One of your hands goes to the upper part of your back while the other goes near your spine, your arms almost hugging you from how odd their placements are. As much as you fidget, you cannot seem to get that one spot, until you feel someone else scratch it gently.

“Here?”

You sigh, relieved as Jean’s nails move up and down, subduing your discomfort.

“The bodice is almost strangling me, and they gave me ballet slippers twice my size.” You groan as you sweep your bangs to the side so you can see what is in front of you. You start walking with Jean away from the stage and into the darkness of the hallway where the dressing rooms are.

“Don’t you think you can buy a new pair?” A well-meaning question, but their tone doesn’t stop you from dryly laughing.

“I’m not the one who had the lead role.” You walk to the door with the number four on it, twisting the handle and pushing it backward. “This is just a sideshow, anyway. As soon as I get that promotion, I’m getting out of here and moving to a different Yorknew district. One with a name that does not claim to be a saint.” Upon entering the dressing room, you raise your arms towards the ceiling and emit a low, discontented sound. “Hilland or Kingstown, hopefully. Those have the highest crime rates, after all.”

“Saintshore isn’t that bad.” Jean leans on the door and begins to take off their shoes, their quality much higher than yours. Your eyes go back between your vanity and theirs, both of which have bouquets piled on top of each other, along with other gifts. “The audience loves you, you know.”

“Then why was I the deuteragonist yet again?” Your hands shift through your mound, separating the flowers from everything else. Some chocolates, makeup, perfume, confessional love letters… nothing to pay much attention to, as usual. Frustration overtakes you, but you don’t let it show.

“I mean it. Everyone loves you. You rival my popularity most of the time.”

Another dry laugh from you. “Then my dog days should be over by now.”

“Perhaps they will soon.” You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that Jean is smiling, trying to comfort you as they always do. “I think you’ll be okay. You have plenty of potential and you are admired by many here, from the patrons to the staff.”

“If those people loved me as much as they say they do, then I wouldn’t be in this dress and instead be living in a penthouse, living a life of luxury without working a single hour.”

“Maybe that will happen someday. You never know.” A hug from behind. “Maybe you’ll be swept off your feet tomorrow by some charming, tall stranger. Like those meet cutes from those movies you like watching.”

“If only, Jean. If only.”

*~*~*~*

Robin took you to the library today because you had mentioned that the few books you had were getting boring. She told you that she had never taken for an answer when you said you didn’t want to bother her. She then grabbed your hand and pulled you all the way here, repeating that you were never an inconvenience to her and that she loved you. She accompanied you to the horror section, remembering your fondness for the genre as you had mentioned a few days ago. That and Halloween were just around the corner.

You were glad to have someone to talk to while Sebaste was busy working in his office, at least.

Robin was chattering away, talking about random stuff that she remembered or events that happened when she was younger. A few weeks ago, she went on a tangent about the history of execution methods and how it related to racial segregation, and if you were being honest it was interesting to listen to. You learn a lot from Robin this way, even things like carving you learn more from her words and less from her movements.

As much as her interests are varied and odd, you cannot deny that Robin is very knowledgeable. Whenever Robin is present, it's as if you're engaged in a conversation with an old buddy or a younger sibling passionately discussing their interests, even though Robin is significantly older than you. If it wasn’t for the fact that there are many small sections of white hair amongst her ginger locks and her wrinkles, a stranger would probably have assumed that she is your little sister.

You love her and trust her.

“What about this one?” Robin asks, holding out a book with the title We Have Always Lived In The Castle on its monochrome front.

If you recall correctly, it’s a Shirley Jackson work. Someone recommended it to you a long time ago, you think. You can’t remember who exactly, though. It was not Chrollo as he was not the most interested in horror to begin with. All that was on his bookshelves were books relating to philosophy or something else in that vein.

At present, the library houses a mere handful of people. The librarian, the village teacher with two visibly tired children. A girl about your age with bright purple hair and a black leather jacket with tiny spikes on its cuffs and a white skull on the back of it. A man who looked a bit older than you was reading a book with his other hand on his chin looking zoned out in a way.

*~*~*~*

There is a pleased, wanting moan coming from behind you on the bed.

“We’re finally alone, baby…”

Don Dario lays on his bed, large enough to be used by at least five people. The frame is made of agarwood, and the headboard is crested with what you assume is pure gold, considering how rich the Don is. The pillows are encased with wine red and medallion yellow silk. So are the curtains of the canopy. The blanket is doused in similar shades, but slightly darker than you think. If you choose to lie down, you could see the painted inside of the marquee, but you don’t want to. You do not want to sleep with this slimeball. So you simply sit at the corner hoping the Don would just give up and let you go.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” His knees are stabbing into the mattress and he is quickly unbuckling the belt of his crimson velvet robe, moaning and chuckling with excitement. “Come on, pussycat. Come to Daddy.” Even though you refuse to face him, you can envision how he is licking his lips as you hear his mantle being thrown to the floor. “No need to keep playing hard to get. Nobody’s here aside from you and me. I know you want me, darling.”

Click, click, click.

He crawls on all fours to your backside and then to your right side, still cooing and cawing. You finally look at his eyes, and you see the direction they are facing; downwards. After a slight scoff from you, though, he looks upwards towards your face. “You’re so cute, you know. I feel like I will never get tired of looking at you.”

Click, click, click.

“You like me too, don’t you?” There is a smirk on his face, making his double chin even larger and making you in turn narrow your eyes. “You must, at least a little bit, right? Everyone wants a piece of me. But I don’t mind if such a pretty girl like you wants to get a bit more than you were told that you would get. You will, if you promise to come back, that is. For another round.”

There is a whisper of a glare in your eyes, and when Don Dario notices this he simply laughs haughtily.

“Now, now, sweetie.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I always keep my word. You just have to do your part and everything will be fine.”

“I never said I would do this, you forced me to be here.”

The grip tightens and you wince. “When I saw you on that stage, I knew I had to have you. I was feeling generous. I still am.” His voice is now cold and demanding, the opposite of how it was just a few seconds ago. “I’ll pay off your debts and have a word with your boss, I promise, if you do as you are told.”

“Asshole.”

Click, click, click.

There is a murmur of fondness from Don Dario’s mouth, but you don’t care enough to make out what he said.

“You know no sane woman would sleep with you willingly, and so you order your lackeys to grab one by the hair and drag her to your room. Quite pathetic, wouldn’t you say?”

Don Dario rolls onto his back and cackles like he is being tickled. “This kitten is trying to use her claws to fight a lion! How adorable.” You want to throw up.

Click, click, click.

A flash.

“What was that?” You ask, irate.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Your neck turns to see him start to unbutton his shirt, the golden letters and medals of the many necklaces around his neck smashing against one another. “Just a few mementos, and also to make sure you don’t say anything… crummy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Call me whatever you like, but one way or another you’ll do what I want.” There is a sudden grab of your hair as you are forced to lay on the mattress roughly. The touch of the velvet beneath you, despite being soft, also feels like molasses on your skin and makes you feel slow and heavy. “Let us not wait a second longer, my bride for today. Be good for me and maybe I’ll even send more money your way in the future.”

You want to cry out for help, but his henchmen are right outside his bedroom door in case you try to run. It would be useless. You wouldn’t be let go and all that would result from it is you being pushed and shoved back into Don Dario’s arms eventually. He would find you if you ran.

You decide not to fight anymore. You’re exhausted and there would be no point in the long run. You nod and the genuine smile that appears on Don Dario’s face is a terrifying sight to you. At least you would get that promotion and the money to pay off your debts, even if it hurts to walk in the morning.

“Give daddy some sugar, baby.”

Every hair on your body stands on end as you nod.

You are nothing now but a Mignonne who is forced to be swept off her feet.

“Lay all your love on me.”

*~*~*~*

The newspaper today had an odd headline, to say the least. Especially because this town is so far away from the Saintshore district of Yorknew. It would take forever to get to it, not that you would ever want to return to that place that should be categorized as a nuclear dump if anything. The food was greasy. There was always a whiff of smoke, either from the smokers or the many, many cars, and rusty needles on the ground below you if you set foot outside. Not that there would be a point in going for a walk as Saintshore was practically unwalkable except for a few suburban areas and a small portion of the poorly taken care of parks.

Mobster Don Dario Niccolo Found Beheaded In Alleyway was not a title you had ever thought would be read or even seen by you or anyone for that matter, but it makes sense. Dario was not short of enemies who would do anything to kill him or at the very least sabotage his business affairs with other criminals. He always had the limelight on him, whether his deeds were good or bad. That gave him the nickname of the uncrowned king of Saintshore. You don’t feel bad for his family or his ‘friends’ in the slightest. That is one person who is part of your unwanted past gone, after all, and someone will be there to get the blood-soaked inheritance and probably continue the Niccolo legacy to take more money.

You’re happy to be far away from that district and from the Phantom Troupe, almost enough to get you on your knees and worship the stars above you.

*~*~*~*

His movements are always silent, never betraying his presence with the sound of footsteps. You never hear them coming.

He does it on purpose, you think, to keep you on edge and to catch you in any act of escaping he suspects you will do.

He’s right if he does expect you will try something, though.

His earrings glimmer in the moonlight, hypnotizing you with their beauty. His eyes glimmer too, his irises reminding you of the pitch-black sky that is above you two and this picnic blanket. His teeth remind you of pearls sold in unpurchasable jewelry shops. At least you feel hypnotized, because you do nothing as he takes your hand, not even flinching. Like the devil, Chrollo is beautiful. But the beauty is only hiding what lurks beneath the surface; a monster.

“Open wide, dearest.” The chocolate-covered strawberry leans closer, pale fingertips holding onto its dark green leaves. “This is romantic, is it not?”

Maybe you can blur out his words for a bit longer to again remove the bitter taste in your mouth. Then only the sweetness of the scenery in front of you would remain, hypnotizing you yet again.

*~*~*~*

When you step out of your house’s door, it is like you are instantly transported back to four years ago; the last time you celebrated Halloween.

All the houses on every block have decorations of some kind, whether going all out with animatronics supposed to resemble monsters like the popular Bays’ house or a measly jack-o-lantern standing out amongst a poorly taken care of front yard like the lone Mr. Hyde’s house. Perhaps the weeds only increased the scariness for the children and were done on purpose. Ah, weeds. How horrifying. All of the houses also have candy to give out to the trick-or-treaters, from Ms. Alson’s house down the street to the unpopular Blissetts’, your neighbors. In Ms. Alson’s case, she is giving out handmade gift bags to everyone who passes by, even adults. However, the Blissetts only put out a smaller-than-life basket of candy corn with a ‘take one’ sign next to it. Terrifying.

“Trick or treat. Give me something good to eat!” The kids chanted, running around in circles as they all wore costumes.

*~*~*~*

As you ponder the origins of this situation, you diligently search for any missteps on your part. Chrollo, in his typical fashion, remains silent about the expression on your face as your mind races. He always waits for you to speak first, yet you are certain he is aware of your thoughts. Together on the balcony, he feigns interest in his book, his sunglasses serving as a disguise to conceal the gaze fixated upon you. What could you have possibly done to cause such a high-ranking criminal to be romantically interested in you? Did you meet somewhere before? Did he see you from afar and become obsessed with you that way?

“You look rather nice with only my shirt on.” A hand is placed on your bare thigh, squeezing the meaty flesh gently.

“When did you first start liking me?” Your vocal tone emerges with a softer and huskier quality than initially intended. You discreetly clear your throat, contemplating whether a repetition of your words is necessary. Chrollo's gaze is fixated upon you, yet you avoid meeting his eyes, instead directing your attention towards the captivating spectacle of the sunset. The hues of yellow seamlessly blend into orange, which seamlessly blends into red, the colors melding together without complete separation. He affectionately applies more pressure to your thigh, emitting a gentle hum. This shirt serves two purposes: to allure him, ultimately facilitating your escape, and to maintain a facade of modesty, despite it being the most conservative garment available in the hotel room. Your loathing for him burns fiercely within, yet you must never allow it to manifest outwardly.

When you fixate on the sunset, you wonder to yourself if you perhaps can distract yourself from the sensation of his hand caressing your thigh.

Placing his book on the table near the outdoor couch, he leans in your direction and gently draws you onto his lap. You make no resistance, acknowledging the potential advantage this holds for your scheme. After all, even if you tried, he wouldn't allow you to escape.

“I mean if you don’t mind. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t get mad.” You lean in, Chrollo’s hair slightly tickling your nostrils. “It’s your choice.”

“You’re right in that aspect. It is my choice.” He hums and you can picture his eyes behind his sunglasses shifting upwards in reminiscence. The arm around you pulls you in closer so that your nose is right next to his neck. “But I’ll tell you if that is what you want. I was in Saintshore and saw you dancing in a ballet.”

“Which one?” You mumble, not even surprised that he knew your side job before you were promoted. You can smell his cologne; musk, sandalwood, rum, and vanilla. He always sprays just a bit too much, not enough to make you cough but enough for you to smell it whenever he is close. Not that you would ever tell him that, as that would ruin your plan and he is self-aware enough to know what he is doing.

“Swan Lake. You played an excellent Odile, beloved.” His hand brushes your arm while the other dances on your thigh still. The queen of the black swans.

“That’s it?” You ask, and Chrollo responds by having his hand over upward from your thigh to your bangs, brushing them to the side.

“You were just so graceful. You still are just as beautiful, you know.” He kisses your forehead and you try your hardest to not flinch. As you gaze at the sunset, you make a conscious effort to divert your attention from the affectionate tone in his voice. He passionately shares his journey of falling in love with you, while his hand gently rests beneath your shirt, and you sense something hard beneath you. It’s best not to think about it too much, you tell yourself.

*~*~*~*

Two years, five months, twenty-two days, twenty-three hours, and five minutes.

That is the duration of time that had passed since your triumphant escape, about half the duration accounting for the time it took for you to reach a considerably distant location from the place where you were held prisoner.

Tickets to films, musical adaptations, ballets, stage adaptations, and operas. Piles upon piles of novels, fashionable clothes, and delicious food that were more expensive than anything you had ever bought before your capture. Everything was given to you in the blink of an eye, all aside from freedom.

Memorabilia like heart-shaped sunglasses, flared sundresses, lingerie made with lace and silk, violas, violins, cellos, croissants, cream puffs, macaroons, rings, necklaces, chokers, thigh highs, garter belts, short skirts, sheer tights, and hotpants were all given to you without you even asking. You only wore them and played them and ate them when it would help you with your escape plan, which you guessed was all the time. You became the archetype known as the temptress, a symbol of lust and desirability. Unethical, a Queen Bee, mysterious, wanting, and seductive. But you also had to become Chrollo’s sweetheart at the same time. A princess from a fairytale, a coquette, gentle, sweet, and alluring.

*~*~*~*

The bedroom is suffocating to you. It was too clean, too pristine, the walls having all furniture mounted on it tidy with not a speck of dust or dirt. There is a low hum of the air conditioner that is above hung paintings that were both stolen and bought legally. A pendulum clock above the bed with its hand swinging from side to side with a constant tick-tocking sound. The blanket restraining your wrists was tied to the headboard, the half that was all things considered a piece of your part of the bed. He doesn’t restrain your legs anymore, a reward you suppose for good behavior, for not trying to kick him whenever he touches you or at the very least within your range. Similarly, he doesn’t gag you anymore for not screaming and crying and demanding to be let go.

He sometimes feeds you and sometimes lets you feed yourself. He brings you whatever you want to eat whenever you want to eat. Pastries, cheese, bread, pasta, all of it you have access to, all you have to do is ask for it. If you don’t request anything, the meal will be something nutritious and balanced, like steamed rice and broccoli with tofu and miso soup. One time you refused to eat, clamping your mouth shut like a toddler as he gently tried to guide a metal spoon to your lips.

You tired your neck out that way and gave in about an hour later, though the food was ice cold by then.

You don’t refuse to eat anymore. You don’t do a lot of things you want to do anymore. You are scheduled as to when you can and cannot walk within the penthouse like you are his dog. The only room you have privacy in is the bathroom, when the silk restraints come off and you can walk around freely, as small as the room is. Though it is windowless, and there would be nowhere to hide if Chrollo ever decided to open the lockless bathroom door.

If you are good, he lets you watch movies or shows on the television, he’ll read to you, one time he even gave you some of your old things from your apartment, putting them on the table beside you. If you are bad… On days that you are bad, he ignores you, aside from when you ask to go to the bathroom, he describes the brutalness of the murders he has committed in great detail as you squirm, or he will tickle you for an hour straight until your face is red with tears and you can hardly breathe.

“I’m willing to wait.”

He repeats this every time you try to tear the blanket off of your wrists and ankles, every time after you cry and scream your lungs out, every time you refuse to look at him and at yourself in a desperate attempt to control at least one thing; your imagination. He wants you to break and leave only your vulnerable, core self. You could never resist the pull of rebellion forever, your thread of patience always eventually snapping and forcing yourself to tie it back together. You could never resist what lays dormant in the deepest crevices of your heart; a chained-up beast.

“With time, all pain fades.”

*~*~*~*

Maybe he is right in that aspect. As much as you want to deny it, with every passing month you were held captive, what Chrollo does then surprised you less and less. You sort of became comfortably numb to it all, only focusing on escape and not how much he touched you everywhere and told you sweet nothings both in and out of bed.

*~*~*~*

“The bathroom is well stocked with all sorts of soaps and shampoos and creams, as well as any other necessities you will need for this.” Chrollo says as he presses one of the mirrors above the sink, the mirror opening and revealing more products than are at the rim of the bathtub already. As always, his voice is calm.

You have never heard him angry before, or sad before, and you don’t want to. You don’t know what he would do if you pushed him to that point. That is why when Chrollo had told you that he wanted you to bathe him as a reward for you being so good these past few weeks, you agreed. You had just graduated from being restrained from the bed to being able to walk around the penthouse freely, and you don’t want that taken away from you, especially so soon.

“And I expect you to do a good job.” He adds, bringing your focus back on him and not on the restraints he had tucked away in his closet a few days ago. “There might be other rewards for you if you do so.”

“I know.” You mutter and pull the handle above the bathtub. Water starts to flow and warm up. You want to ask him if those rewards would be for you or him, but you can’t bring yourself to. Rewards from Chrollo are always a gamble, ranging from making bread to him bringing you a spider lily plant home to gifting you clothes that showed off your collarbone to you sitting on his lap as he read.

“Good girl,” Chrollo says, watching as the tub begins to fill with water and he closes the mirror with a soft click. “And if you’re a very good girl,” He pauses for a moment as the edges of his lips bend into a smirk from what you can see in the foggy mirror. “Who knows what kind of reward I might just give you.” He turns to you, his face still covered by a sly smile. “That is, of course, if you’re a very good girl.”

As much as you try to stop it, your eyebrows furrow slightly at his statement, unsure of what to think. All he does is chuckle.

“Why don’t I make this as fun for you as possible?” In his hands are narrow glass vials, each a different color. From the grainy appearance you can see from each bottle, you can safely assume that they are bath salts. You are right as Chrollo puts them each on the area around the sink one by one. “After all, you’re going to be taking a bath with me.” He pauses for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air. “I hope you’re excited, darling.” He leans in close and presses a kiss on your forehead. “You’re going to enjoy this very, very much, I promise.”

“I know.” You mutter again as you step forward toward the sink, and Chrollo steps back a bit for you to see the options of bath salts. As you expected, there is a wide variety of scents. Floral aromas such as lavender, rose, cherry blossom, and vanilla. There is also a selection of sweet scents, like strawberry and apple, while at the same time, there are some muskier, darker scents, like cinnamon and sandalwood.

You have no say in your hell. You don’t want a say in your hell.

You pick up the narrow periwinkle flask labeled as lavender with shaking hands. As the warm water in the tub fills your bathroom with the sweet smell of lavender, you hear Chrollo speak up from behind you.

“Good choice, love.” He says, his voice filled with anticipation as he speaks. “Now then, I think it is about time for you to give me that bath.”

You hate how you automatically nod, and how Chorollo coos as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

*~*~*~*

You still have trouble having baths in the village bathhouse because of him. You have trouble doing a lot of things you had no problem doing before. You sometimes wake up and because of Sebaste’s dark hair and white skin, you mistake him for Chrollo for a few moments of drowsiness and almost cry and scream. When you are brushing your hair, you style it the way you like it but almost consider putting it in a style Chrollo likes, just in case you see him that day out of pure chance and bad luck. Whenever you see a book that used to be on Chrollo’s shelves, you almost buy it or borrow it so you can burn it later.

*~*~*~*

“What are you looking for, dollface? Treasure? Get rich quick schemes, history?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but curiosity and wandering eyes overtook it halfway.

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you sit down on your butt, crossing your legs. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio is slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song is at, and also because of how loud the construction is outside.

“You are a Hunter, aren’t you?” You lean in slightly and make direct eye contact with him, putting on a slight smile. “I would like to know more about a certain Spider if you catch what I am saying.”

You hate how the man looks at you, confusion clear on his face. You knew it would be risky coming here, but you have no other options.

“Why them?”

You place a large bag filled with coins on the table. “The thirty thousand Jenny fee to talk to you, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You now see the man’s eyes glitter with greed as he smirks. Some people were just too easy. This feels like child’s play compared to Chrollo with the lengths you would have to go to manipulate him. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I want to get straight to business if you don’t mind.”

“Alright then. What do you know about them? Tell me everything.”

The man leans back and looks at the cracked ceiling. “Just be warned, pretty little lady, if they come after you it’s not my fault. You’re asking for trouble.”

You’re annoyed at him keep calling you pet names. You want to slap him. You want to say you would rather not be here at all. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Just one sec.”

He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales, the smoke erupting from his nose onto your face and almost making you loudly cough.

“I’ll tell you.” He smiles, the cigar still wedged between his two golden teeth. “You young ones are so dumb. You aren’t even a Hunter, dollface.”

His grimy voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and his finger taps on it, making some of the burnt parts fall onto the ashtray. He hums again. You just want your information so you can go. You don’t want to do small talk, especially with this prick.

You nod, still not talking. His grin widens at that. He raises one of his hands and a man in a suit and sunglasses comes out of the shadows and hands him a folder, leaving straight afterward without making a sound. So you have unwanted company.

You almost let out a sigh then. The man whistles a tune unfamiliar to you as he looks through the file. He then throws it in an uncaring way towards your side of the table, the folder letting out a slight thump as the paper makes contact with the wood. He whistles a bit more and puts one of his legs over the other. He sighs and your disdain for him only increases by then.

He leans toward and taps on the document inside, some of his cigar ashes staining it.

He grabs the bottle of liqueur beside him and pours some into his shot glass, his many golden rings shining underneath the dimmed lights. "Here is all the information we have on them. It is troublesome how little we know about them."

Your eyes are full of annoyance, but you manage to keep your calm. You lean forward and read through the paper in front of you. You have to do this. You have to do this to make sure that your freedom is everlasting.

To read the entire page took only a few minutes at most, the man being truthful in the fact that no Hunter knows them very well despite the Phantom Troupe being much more than infamous.

The man lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his chair. "Sorry, miss. We know hardly more than you do, but I’ll try to tell you anything else we found out recently."

You want to let out a sigh again. The paper is littered with stains and leaves residue on your fingertips. This is necessary, you tell yourself. Though you just want to leave.

The man clears his throat to get your attention and holds up one of his fingers. "According to my resources, the Spider has recently lost a leg. They quickly gained another to replace it, unfortunately."

It indeed should not be surprising considering how many enemies the Phantom Troupe has, but it is a bit to you.

"We don’t know which one. That’s the most we know of the situation." He stares deeply into your eyes. "I don’t have any other information to give you, I’m afraid."

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops slightly as he grabs the folder and closes it.

You don’t stand up, instead briefly gazing at the liqueur bottle. The man smiles more deeply then, and you feel like you are about to throw up. "You know, you’re very pretty, miss. Just beautiful." His hand moves toward you in one brief motion, to which you respond by leaning away, "I don’t bite, no need to be scared." You stand up. "Now, now, dollface. We should talk a bit more, don’t you think? Maybe I can even drive you back to your place later, or mine."

You scrunch your nose in disgust and begin to walk out of the room. He does not physically stop you, but he mumbles insults under his breath. Slut, whore, the more unoriginal ones. You just ignore them and leave.

That guy was an asshole, but at least you got something out of it.

You wonder which Spider has died.

You hope that it was Chrollo, but that would be near impossible.

Chrollo is hardly known about, after all. There was hardly any information about him anywhere; from the news to the people you question and bribe. You don’t know anything about him either, despite being previously a captive of his. Perhaps even Chrollo does not know much about himself, or at least that is what you theorize.

To entirely free oneself from his clutches, one would need to strike a pact with the devil.

*~*~*~*

Sometimes you think you are an escaped ballerina from her music box. You were always in the same position and only did what you were told.

All you have were the walls of the orchestrina and Chrollo. Without him with you in those many penthouses and hotel rooms, you had no one and could speak to no one. Even when you had escaped by shattering your silk-clad, bleeding feet, some small scattered porcelain pieces of you are left behind for him to find.

If you ever told Sebaste the truth, it would all be for nothing, wouldn’t it?

You would be back to being on the run, trying to pick up whatever ceramic drops from you to avoid leaving a path of breadcrumbs that would lead him directly to you. Just one mistake is all it takes, and it would all be over in a flash. You would try to fix it as quickly as you can, but it wouldn’t be enough, because one day his grabbing hands will grab the soles of your feet, and there you will stay forevermore, attached back onto them, never being able to leave his palms.

A few breaths would kick the door down. The windows would rattle. Weeds would sprout in your garden. You would smell cigarette smoke because the palm of your hand would be back to being used as his ashtray. Everything would burn to the ground.

You don’t want that. God, you do not want that. More than anything in this world.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you don’t think they are here to kill you.

There is someone in your home, and although you don’t think they are here to kill you, they do not come with the best of intentions either, though.

You think they are in love with you. Love may not be the best to describe it, you think, maybe obsessed or infatuated instead.

Whoever breaks into your home regularly leaves you gifts; flowers, cards, clothes, and other things they know you like. They must have been stalking you for quite a while before doing this because hardly anyone you know knows what your favorite instrument or candle scent is.

Sometimes they go on rants in the letters they send to you once or twice a week. Sometimes they bring you trinkets, usually hairpins or porcelain figurines. One morning you woke to find a bag of coffee grounds, your favorite brand but also quite an expensive one. When you used them that very morning, they praised you greatly with a long note the next day. However, when you refused to eat the slice of strawberry shortcake that was put on your kitchen table and threw it away in your bin, there was no note whatsoever.

You don’t think they cared, or at least didn’t want to let you know they cared. The amount of gifts put in your apartment only increased every time you ignored the last present. They kept getting more and more expensive, too. Whoever is in your home is either filthy rich or does not know how to budget their money well.

Sometimes you hear the lightest of breaths when your back is turned and you are sitting on the sofa, watching a comforting movie. They are fast and good at hiding because whenever you try to catch them in the act there is nothing behind you.

Every time you try to tell someone, they say to just install more security, more locks, cameras, and invest in self-defense lessons and tasers and alarms. You have tried that, and nothing works, the gifts and trinkets keep coming.

No one believes you and your stalker knows it. Every time you try to report it and get shut down, there is a mocking chuckle from behind you when you come back home.

You aren’t alone, you’re with them, but you wish you were because then you would at least be able to rest. You wish you were alone in the dark.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you think they want you.

There is someone in your home, and you know you don’t want them.

…

You’re tired. You don’t know how to express it.

It’s nearly midnight and you just want to take out your resentment on something. You just want to be alright. You lock your apartment door behind you and walk from the entrance to your small sitting area. You sit on the couch, ignoring the large box on the table beside it. Instead, you grab the basket of VHS tapes on the floor, shuffling through them with both your hands.

Billy Madison. Perfect. You take it out.

Your fingers tap against the front of the tape, your other hand scratches the back of your head and rubs the back of your neck, and your feet shake.

Your stalker must have turned your lamp on when you were out working, maybe for you to see the gift, because you know you didn’t. You don’t care to address the box or them right now, as you are used to it by now.

You snap the VHS tape in half with both of your hands.

All this world does is hurt you, so who can blame you for wanting to hurt it back?

It was a shitty movie anyway. A horribly written plot. Horribly written characters. You were never really a fan of comedies, especially those with a spoiled rich kid as the protagonist. You were going to throw it out even if you didn’t break the tape. You want to demote that assistant who gave you that as a joke.

But that would be petty, and it was a joke. You just wish he got you Gone with the Wind or The Princess Bride or Romeo and Juliet or something like that instead. You could go for a romance movie right about now, especially one with a forehead kiss. You love forehead kisses.

You throw the smashed VHS tape in the garbage.

You could swear that you heard a chuckle as you did so.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and they put a gift beside your bed as you sleep.

There is someone in your home, and they put an unused VHS tape with the title ‘Romeo and Juliet' on your bedside table before you could wake up.

There is someone in your home, and they give you a forehead kiss before slithering off again into the dark.

You know they won’t stay there for long, but you foolishly hope that they will.

Dark goldenrod, rich black, gray, baby powder, blood red.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home. You are sure of it.

The placement of everything is slightly off.

The perfume bottles and makeup products in your bedroom are slightly tilted, and your figurines are placed in places where you know you didn't put them, like finding your cat music box on your vanity when it is always by your bedside table, and your bed is slightly unmade. You feel a gaze whenever you are at home and when you are just about to fall asleep, you hear the soft clicking of a camera. You hear the floorboards creak, too loud to be your dog’s. You know Sebaste would never do those things because he is in his office all day working, even when you are in bed already.

Your kitchen is dirtier than usual. There are always some fallen, dried leaves on the floor even when neither you nor Sebaste had gone outside that day. Some of your food is missing, like the leftover pancakes you planned on eating. Sebaste claims to have not eaten them, and you know he is telling the truth.

It is not just your paranoia. There is someone in your home, watching you.

That same person is most likely watching you outside your home too. You feel a gaze wherever you are.

Whenever you go to the library to read something, you always feel someone looking at you whenever you are paying attention to the books, turning their gaze away the moment you look around. Whenever you pick up takeout from the local saloon, you feel someone staring at you in the corner, blending in with the rest of the dancing, friendly villagers. Whenever you are at the farmer’s market, you feel a gawker behind you, hiding behind one of the stalls, one filled to the brim with boxes and boxes of produce. Whenever you turn your head as you are walking to your cottage, you hear quickening footsteps, running farther and farther away. Whenever you are in the town’s museum, you can sense someone near you in the same exhibit, pretending to pay attention to the artifacts and not you.

Their eyes feel intense like you are made of gold. Something sellable at an auction or something to be stuffed into a penthouse and never see the light of day again. Within your blood flows aureate brilliance to them. You are something to be used, to be fed to the wolves.

You found a few muddy footprints in the bathroom coming from the window above it a few days ago. They are too big and too misshapen to be your dog’s, and they don’t look like the footprints that Sebastian's sneakers leave behind. You clean it up with a mop and some spray. As much as you want to be, you cannot say you are exactly afraid, but a few tiers below that.

You are cautious, sure. You make sure your doors and windows are locked before going to sleep now as well as double checking them in the middle of the night. You cannot say you are afraid, though. You are plotting to catch them in the act, and you don’t think someone afraid would confront their stalker.

You keep doing your usual routine. Wake up, boil water for coffee, wash your face and brush your teeth, make coffee and breakfast, and eat said breakfast. You prefer this life to the one you ran away from by a landslide, still, even though your stalker is somewhat ruining it. Chrollo would treat you like a glorified dog.

Sit, stay, and roll over.

Good girl.

Here is a treat.

You think Sebaste is the only one keeping you from snapping and hunting down your gawker with a bow and ax. Ironically, he still doesn’t know about them. But that’s alright with you. You prefer it.

His routine mirrors yours. He makes coffee for you some days. He eats with you. He walks the dog with you. Then he goes to his office to work.

This is a life you are happy with. You aren’t going to let your stalker ruin that for you.

You are not going to tell Sebaste either. It is much better if you handle this problem on your own. Solving problems on your own is what you are used to, after all. Sebaste could be in danger if you tell him. You’re in danger, and you don’t want him to share your fate more than he already is.

Sebaste is the one person in this world you can trust wholeheartedly. You want to protect him, and you would give up everything if it meant he would be happy and safe. So, you buy a taser, some pepper spray, and a pullable alarm, and learn how to hold your keys in just the right way so you could be able to use them as weapons in case your confrontation with your stalker goes sour.

You have planned what to do with your stalker if things do go as you intended. An abandoned shed, a chair, zip ties, and some… equipment if they do not tell you everything they know right away.

*~*~*~*

Once upon a time, there was a princess who had a terrible curse placed upon her by a witch when she was an infant. Everything she touched would die in but a few moments. One day, she got tired of living alone on the outskirts of her kingdom, banished when she was near adulthood, and set out into the woods to search for someone to be her first-ever friend.

However, what she discovered was a malevolent man exuding an overwhelming aura of greed.

She hated him. She hated him with all her being, from how he looked to how he spoke to how he treated her; everything he did she disliked.

So, a few days after meeting him in the forest behind her cottage, the princess asked him to touch her face. He did, gently caressing her cheek with his palm and fingers. As his hand made contact with her delicate visage, the princess gently shut her eyes and silently counted to five. But when the princess opened her eyes, she was horrified by the sight in front of her.

The stranger was still there, alive.

…

The unexpected visitor revealed himself as King Death, who is in relentless pursuit of a bride who embodies purity and possesses a power comparable to his own.

"To discover an angel as calm and radiant as the morning doves and dew is an immense stroke of fortune."

Uttering these words, he ensnared her with a gaze as binding as a wedding vow, his eyes devoid of light and depth, unlike anything the princess had witnessed in her secluded little forest. Without delay, he then accomplished his task with an air of satisfaction.

…

Princess Blossom bemoans her unfortunate circumstance, trapped in a desolate garden devoid of life and sunshine. “Do you have not an ounce of mercy for me or anyone?"

Across from her, King Death relishes in the corpse beneath his feet, a lifeless dove's remains, its once pristine white feathers now drenched in crimson, reminiscent of cherry wine. “If you think a bird is beautiful, just wait until you find it dead, dearly beloved by life itself until its last breath.”

…

In the palm of King Death rests a delicate flower in bloom. In a casket adorned with white wisterias lies his cherished bride, eternally his. "A blossom as lovely as you, my rose, should not wither away so easily." Her eyes exude a captivating beauty, a reflection of innocence mingled with fear. "What troubles you, causing such tremors? It cannot be the chill in the air." Though she trembles with fear, he hungrily consumes her terror as the flowers around her wilt.

…

“The nearer you are, the more I break! Have you always been this cruel to us mortals?” Princess Blossom bangs on the wood above her, the coffin sealed shut and buried six feet underneath the beautiful grass, stars, and flowers. She hears someone coming to dig her out, but that hope is replaced with fear as soon as she realizes the sound is coming from beneath her. This is King Death’s reply to her question; to take her to the underworld where only his eyes will see his radiant queen forevermore.

*~*~*~*

It’s necessary, you tell yourself. If there was any other path you could follow, you would have taken it. At least, you think you would have.

Your stalker follows you everywhere. You know it, they know it, but Sebaste doesn’t know it. They probably have seen you in the abandoned shed preparing everything, and either are preparing themselves for confrontation or not taking you seriously.

You hope, for their sake, that they are doing the former. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply tell you all they know without you even bringing them to the shed. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply do that. But you know it won’t be that easy. Either this person is obsessed with you or was paid to follow you.

If your stalker indeed fits into the latter category, they are certainly in for an unpleasant surprise. You won’t let them get away. You won’t let them do anything other than cry, say what they know, and beg for mercy. Eventually, they will have no voice box to scream with, and only blood will come out of their mouth instead of any sound.

You will make sure of it.

You made a vow with yourself to make sure of it.

You have no choice other than to be cruel. You know that, and you hope your follower knows it too. It would be far less trouble for either of you that way.

You have to protect yourself and Sebaste, no matter the cost. You love him too much to lose him. He is in the house and you are outside, defending him. You will do anything to make sure he is alright.

So, you wait. You wait for hours.

There is someone outside your home.

You are sure of it.

You are going to confront them here and now.

You aren’t afraid. You are merely cautious. You don’t want Sebaste to hear any struggling or cries.

Through the window, you smell warm, fresh coffee being brewed in the French press. Sebaste has always had a bad habit of drinking coffee late at night. But it’s alright, he most likely has to work a bit more anyway.

You wait until your thoughts go numb with a lack of sleep. You slap yourself in the face, hard, to keep yourself awake.

*~*~*~*

If one were to compare, this penthouse resembles a work of art in a museum.

It is untouched by dirt and if the small flames of the candles on the table where the television is placed didn’t move from side to side, you would forget anything aside from you and Chrollo could move. Everything shares the same color palette, and there are no warm hues aside from the roses on the vanity in the bedroom and modest fires. Rose ebony, gunmetal, reseda green, silver, periwinkle. Black. Black, black, black, like one day someone decided to cover the counters, walls, and chairs in soot or charcoal.

It is like whoever designed this had won a lifetime supply of ink paint and decided to use it in different concentrations. Rich on the desks and the vanity, but lighter in some areas like the walls, showing designs of olive roses. The farthest you can go here is to the balcony or lean on the door of the entrance like you could pass through it like a portal if you wished hard enough. You cannot jump from the porch, if you remember correctly the room number is 20008. You are twenty floors off the ground, and you know that you cannot survive a plunge from that high up.

You feel like a canary in a hanging birdcage.

You can only tweet and look pretty. You cannot leave unless your captor is there with you every step of the way. You are only allowed to do what you are told to do and not what you want to do.

This is an impeccable, foolproof, ideal enclosure for any imprisoner.

All is flawlessly pristine, to the point of nausea for anyone trapped inside.

You can only chitter and peep like the baby bird you are forced to be. You can only be cradled within suffocatingly loving arms. Chrollo is like your shadow, following you to every part of this place, treating you like a porcelain doll or a pet. You don’t dare act outside of the role you were given because then you know your detainer won’t be pleased with you and your chances of escape will be even lower than they already are.

“Dearest?”

There is that sickeningly sweet voice again, from beside you. He does not know how to shut up, not that you would bother telling him such. You are here, in his domain and his clothes and eating his food. You have no say here, and he knows it.

“Yes?”

You try your best to replicate the tone of a doting, little lover. You don’t fiddle with the skirt of the short dress you were given. According to your kidnapper, your solitary pair of jeans and single hoodie has ‘vanished under enigmatic circumstances’ and thus gave you this attire as compensation. Asshole.

You are waltzing whether you like it or not.

It is how you act that chooses whether you are pulled with puppet strings or not, though.

“You look beautiful.” His tone is so sincere that it almost induces a nauseating urge to vomit directly onto him. “So beautiful.”

You feel like a statue only brought here to be gawked at. He is always touching you in some way, most of the time it is your thighs that are held captive by being caressed with hands akin to velvet. You let him because what else can you do? You would want nothing more than to push him away and run out the door but you simply cannot. You are trapped here, and using Chrollo with honeyed words and passionate kisses is your only key out. You cannot stay in this consolidated coop any longer or you will break.

If you falter, you will never get out of here.

If he catches you in the act of escaping, you will never be free. The silk restraints will be replaced with shackles. A mile of running only means an inch of a chance of escaping. You don’t want to die here. You don’t want to die with rotting, choking hands around your neck.

As you expected, Chrollo’s hand squeezes your inner thigh. “Thank you, Chrollo.”

From the look in his eyes, you can tell he wants so much more than just those words.

*~*~*~*

Footsteps. Calm, poised ones. There is no sound of stray branches snapping or dead leaves crunching. Footsteps of one who knows what you plan to do.

You do not recognize him. His eyes are as bright as gold yet as hungry as a wolf’s, unblinking. If he was a word, it would be dangerous, in bold, yellow, large, lit letters.

His hair is as pink as bubblegum. His nails are quite long, pointed, and painted black. He has a teal star on one of his cheeks and a yellow teardrop on the other. With his mere presence, he towers over you in height and strength and everything else possible. He is as odd-looking as a clown, you note to yourself.

“I had heard the Spider had lost and gained a leg.” You say as the grip on your knife gets much stronger than before. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Correct, my dear.”

“Which one did you replace?”

“Fourth.”

“So Omokage then.”

“I think. Can’t recall right now.”

You scoff at that. “Can’t recall, huh?” The stranger’s grin stays on like a sticker of a smile that was placed on his face where his actual one would be.

“It doesn’t matter who died, I defeated them and that is all that matters. There is no use in remembering the name of a rotting corpse.”

“I would thank you, but you have the same mission as he probably did.”

“Whether you like me or not does not matter either, I am here either way.” One, two steps closer. “I am here either way and there is nothing you can do about it, my dear.”

“I never liked Omokage, anyway. He always treated Luna so poorly.”

“Who?”

“The captive that was forced to be his doll of some sort. Though I assume she is dead by now, right?”

The man shrugs his shoulders and laughs. “Probably.”

“Was wherever you all buried her marked if somebody even buried her at all?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I do remember something about a body being put in a dug-out hole by Machi.”

At least she was given that, you guess. “How did she look?”

“There was hardly a body to bury if I remember correctly. It looked like someone took a skeleton and put leather over it.” Another amused chuckle.

“So she starved to death then. Slow and painful and probably chained up. He always restrained and gagged her before he left, after all.”

The man yawns, disinterested. He is not even paying attention, is he?

“If you ever find out where her grave is, please put a jasmine flower on it for me. Jasmines were her favorite.”

“If I remember. Why are you asking so much about her anyway?”

*~*~*~*

Luna is kind to you, so kind. Despite being taken by such a monster that treats her so horribly, she still manages to smile whenever she talks to you, albeit how rare those times were. You remember one time she wore a turtleneck, the only one she was allowed to wear according to Chrollo, to cover the bruises on her neck, arms, and collarbone. Another time she wore a surgical mask, though because of how bright the teal color was it did the opposite of what Luna wanted it to do; not attract more attention to her face. Omokage only let her wear it because he thought it would “humble her”, whatever that fucking meant. Luna never hit him or at the very least tried not to, even when he broke two of her fingers in front of you. It was a punishment for asking for five more minutes to chat with you.

“It will all be okay.” It is a repeated saying of hers.

“I know it will.” She would always answer that when you asked how she knew that things would get better. She repeats the saying and her answer both to you and to herself when the times get tougher than they usually are for her. She looked out for you and tried to make your situation better by telling Chrollo how good you were to her. Omokage only ignored and glared at you when you tried to do the same for her. You hate Omokage. You do, with all your being. You hated him more than you did all the other Troupe members.

You hated Omokage more than Chrollo even, which is quite the accomplishment if you say so yourself.

Chrollo thinks it is funny. At least you think he does. Maybe that is why you see Luna more than you do the other “Webs”, as you captives are named.

“It’s okay if he hurts me, I won’t hit him back. Violence is not the answer, it only creates more.” She grinned as she said that, one of her front teeth missing. “He’ll die one day and then I will be free.” It is clear to you that if she continues to think that way, she will break. “You’ll be there to tell Number Zero to free me, right? Then I can go home.”

She is always such an optimist. It’s a trait you wish you had. You almost wish you could trade places with her because at least Chrollo does not treat you as his punching bag, though you suppose being his plaything isn’t much better.

“I’ll do the same for you if Number Zero dies. At least then one of us would be free, either way, the ball rolls.” Her light is fading, you can tell by how she looks at you, how her blue eyes don’t shine as much as they used to. “I’ll do anything to make sure he listens.” She is going to break soon. You want so badly to stop it. You want to save her. But you can’t. “I mean it. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be free.”

You know she means it, and it brings you so much more pain than if she didn’t. She unintentionally twists her knife further into your heart

“It will all be okay. I want you all to be happy. You all deserve it.” You want to tell her that she does, more than you do. She deserves a good life, a normal life. “We are friends, aren’t we?” You can’t bear to tell her the truth of what will happen if either Omokage or Chrollo dies. “Friends look out for each other.”

She placed a kiss on your forehead then, before Omokage could stop her. She was dragged back by him pulling on her long sable hair as she cried out in pain. He called her a whore and pulled her out of the room. Neither she nor Omokage came back to the room that day.

*~*~*~*

“She was so sweet. She didn’t deserve to die like that at all.”

“I am Hisoka, by the way.” He bows, the smirk still being plastered on his face without faltering.

You take a few steps back as he approaches further, trying to remain some distance apart from him. “Stay back.” Hisoka hums and merely comes closer.

“If the description I was given and what you know checks out, you must be [First]. At least, I hope that’s who you are, for your sake.” He smiles and he moves forward. “You have certainly been going on a few little adventures, haven’t you?”

“...Yes.” He stares down at you. You know that to him; you are a mere rubber toy to twist until your head pops off.

His gaze shifts to your house, behind you. “You certainly are resourceful; I’ll give you that. The life you have built for yourself was made from nothing. Quite admirable.”

“Do you mean that?” You ask, your voice both cold and inquiring as to why one of the members of the Phantom Troupe is here, in front of you and your house. But you already knew the answer.

“I do.” His voice seems somewhat truthful, but you can tell he wants more.

“Why are you here, Number Four?”

“Now, now. No need to be so aggressive.” He puts his hands up in a mockery of surrendering as he goes back to looking down on you. With the dying trees and debris behind him, he sticks out like a sore thumb. “I have a favor to ask of you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The way he looks at you, a look of one that is about to skin a poor, defenseless doe.

“What kind?”

“Simple. Tell me all you know about the boss.”

“What would I get in exchange for telling you such information?”

“I will not tell the other Troupe members of your location.”

“Is that a threat, Number Four?”

“Oh, no, it is not a threat. It is a potential promise if you don’t listen. While you are at it, you can also tell me about yourself. I believe we haven’t had an actual conversation before if the boss told me the truth that you have been on the run from him for more than two years.”

“Don’t be greedy, Number Four.”

“Oh, no.” Hisoka grins with a proud smile. “I believe you are the one being greedy, my dear.”

“...you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“You ran away from a life of luxury and comfort. Surely you feel at least somewhat foolish for doing such a thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“The boss is quite displeased with you, though I assume you know that by now. He has been searching high and low all over for you.”

“I’m quite aware, Number Four. We both know I don’t intend to go back.”

He nods and hums. “I know. That is why if you still want to play house with your precious boy toy, you’ll do what I say.”

You scoff and look to the side. “He is not… just a plaything. He is different.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He looks off to the woods. “Plus, I believe there is a rat in your midst. I am sure you have noticed. If you tell me what you know, I’ll trap him for you.”

“You mean you’re not…” Your posture slightly relaxes, but soon firms up once again when you realize that you have two people following you now; Hisoka and your mysterious stalker.

“No. I’m not. So, will you accept my offer, darling?”

“Why does such information matter to you?”

Hisoka shakes his head, still smiling. “That doesn’t concern you, my dear. Now, tell me what you know if you don’t want the rest of the Troupe being here in a matter of mere hours.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, being independent once again. You’re happy here, having stability and not fearing a sudden, gruesome death where you die alone with no one but your captor. You’re happy here, being able to find some humanity within yourself.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is in the house, blissfully unaware of the laurel crown placed on your head, its thorns digging deep into your skull and dying the tips of it crimson red. He doesn’t know of the invisible scars that mark your body, a gift from the very pits of hell’s flames.

He will remain in that place, never knowing of anything you have buried underground.

He will stay, no matter the cost you will have to pay.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, and you’re not going to let anyone take it away from you.

“Do we have a deal?”

The moment your lips part, the words that escape your mouth are the ones Hisoka longs to hear.

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #hxh #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hier encore.#ultraviolet.#author aya

105 notes · View notes

bvtbxtch · 6 months

Text

Children of the Corn | Eddie Munson

Day Twelve of Kinktober

Summary: A group date in the new Hawkins corn maze sounded amazing to you: Hanging out with Steve, Robin, Nancy and Jonathan sounded like just your night, until your worst enemy is included in the plans.

Content Warnings: this is lowkey some porn with a plot so 18+!!! MDNI. But we have some fluff, angst, enemies to lovers trope, fingering, oral (m receiving), withholding orgasm, overstimulation, public sex

wc: ~ 4.2k (this is my formal apology for being gone)

A lovely thank you to all of you for helping me out for the past month in supporting me on my health journey and a special thank you to @darknesseddiem for collaborating with me for this kinktober (even though I'm late IM SORRY)

Eddie Munson picked the exact date and time where he decided that you weren’t a friend, but an enemy. It was Jason Carver’s stupid fucking party that he wasn’t technically invited to, just asked to deal at. You had asked him to take you out, but you being you, and the pressure from half of the party staring and snickering at the two of you, Eddie put his walls up, and humiliated you in front of everyone - definitely more of a fall from grace for you than him. You told him to fuck himself and that you would never talk to him again. As much as it sent pangs of cold to Eddie’s heart, he knew the chances of you running into each other again were slim. You were in two totally different circles; or so he thought. You began working at the old record shop in the same strip mall as Family Video… Hawkins’ entertainment district was pretty measly. You met Robin while the two of you took breaks at the same time every shift, and Steve not long after. You became fast friends and blended in with them beautifully. Why wouldn’t you? Eddie thought, everyone likes you… his admiration turned into rage in self defense. He saw the look of shock and disappointment on your face when you saw him at the first group hangout. You tried your best to stay away from him, but 6 became a crowd: Nancy and Jonathan always off together, Robin and Steve continuing whatever quarrel they had started at Family Video, and you and Eddie. When it was the two of you, you were reasonably quiet. But Eddie was ruthless in a group - no comment you made to anyone went without a snide remark or scoff from the metalhead. The tension was palpable between the two of you: he thought you had come onto him as a joke, and you thought he was being cruel because he truly hated you.

Your birthday had finally come, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic. Nancy and Robin had planned your perfect autumn day. You had told them how badly you had wanted to go to the Hawkins corn maze, so they made arrangements. You were going to pick up hot chocolate, walk the maze, buy pumpkins and carve them at the Harrington house while you watched scary movies. You barely slept last night, you were so excited. You had given up complete control but there was one thing you had asked your friends: please don’t bring Eddie to this outing, not if they could help it. Robin regretfully inclined, saying she would let him know he was sitting this one out. You breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe you could finally fully enjoy your birthday.

You heard honking from outside and you dashed to your front door. You turned and ran down the front steps of your porch, a smile still stupidly plastered on your face. You halted and your grin dropped when you looked to see what vehicle was waiting to pick you up. A rusted burgundy van rumbled on the asphalt and a shit eating grin was plastered on the driver. Robin sat in the front seat with a guilty look on her face. She mouthed sorry to you as she hopped out of the van.

“No, no. You stay in the front. There’s no way in hell I’m sitting up there.” You accepted your defeat and brushed past the strawberry blonde, opening the sliding door to get in the back.

“Happy birthday, princess” Eddie sneered. He was over the moon with himself. “Hope you like your surprise” You normally let his comments slide off your back but you decided enough was enough. He was not going to walk all over you, not today.

“Well my eyes do deceive me then because this seems more like a punishment than a gift.” you mumbled. You turned your eyes to Steve, Nancy and Jonathan in the back with you.

“Nice to see you guys” you beamed at them. If Eddie thinks he can ruin your day, he is sorely mistaken. With a scowl, Eddie pulls the van into drive and screeches off the pavement.

“So, we thought we would draw names to see who goes in with who, make it a little competition?” Nancy wiggled her eyebrows at you.

“Yeah, we have prizes for the winners!” Robin chirped. You sighed and nodded your head in agreement. Hoping the worst wouldn’t happen - hoping that someone would be on your side today. If only…

Nancy pulled out a small notepad and a pen and wrote six names on them for three partners. Three pairings, you were hoping, that would be different from the usual. The names were pulled with stone cold faces: Robin and Jonathan, Nancy and Steve, You and Eddie.

“We can repull,” Nancy laughed off, already crumpling papers back into the small container she used to shake them up.

“Why, is the princess scared of me?” Eddie’s eyes pierced yours through the rearview mirror.

“No, Nance. Don’t worry about it.” You grabbed at the girl’s manicured hand and squeezed it. “It’s all good.” You smiled and nodded at her in refusal. You weren’t going to let Eddie ruin your day, but some time alone with him might bring you both some closure. But you couldn’t help but make your own jabs. “Eddie’s just upset that he’s gonna get carried through this maze. I heard he failed geometry a record 6 times?” Robin snorted and Eddie’s eyes fixed on the road, jaw hardened.

The six of you trudged to the start of the maze, making your plan to meet in the middle from three different entrances.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go kick some ass.” Eddie’s voice was so saccharine sweet you felt a headache coming on. You flashed him a cold smile and you turned away from your friends to be stuck in a cornfield with the person you hated the most for the next hour.

You kept your distance from the mop headed boy. You walked side by side, but with more than enough room. He didn’t dare look at you, eyes trained to the floor (much like the night he ruined you) and his bottom lip fastened between his teeth. You glanced over at him periodically, hoping your eyes would meet his and the tension would fizzle, but you weren’t lucky. You came to a dead end with paths going to the left and the right.

“We should go this way,” the boy mumbled. Without waiting for you to agree, he pivoted on his heels and walked to the left. You let out an annoyed sigh.

“Eddie, that path looks like it’s just going to loop around to where we came from.” you argued. You wanted to keep your voice calm, you didn’t want to start a fight, and you definitely didn’t want Eddie fucking Munson to see you cry in a cornfield. He ignored you. He had shrugged off your counter and continued on his own way. He felt a tug on the arm of his jacket and he whipped around at you, his face mere inches from yours.

“What is your fucking problem?” he spat. Your face was etched with bewilderment and rage.

“What the hell are you talking about, Munson? You seemingly have a problem with me!” You yelped back. “You are so hellbent on making my life fucking difficult when I did nothing to you.”

“Holy fuck,” Eddie sneered. “You really are fucking that dense, aren’t you.” He pushed past you and back towards where you wanted to go in the first place. You bit your lip and exhaled slowly before turning and pacing after him. You refused to let the tears burning your waterline escape. Fuck. Eddie. Munson.

It was pure silence as you and Eddie trudged through the maze. You regretted this whole day, you regretted becoming friends with this whole group of people, and most of all, you regretted ever being nice to Eddie Munson. The twists and turns that you let Eddie lead you on began to all look the same, but you were too frustrated and tired to say anything to him. It had been half an hour of wandering and you could feel the heat growing behind your eyes. You were angry, you were tired, and you just wanted this day to be over.

“Eddie. We’re lost.” You peeped. He gave you no reaction, continuing to walk a few steps ahead of you. You sighed and reluctantly followed until your forehead bounced off of Eddie’s denim-clad back with an oof. “What are-”

“Why did you do that… at Carver’s party? Why?” Eddie’s voice was quiet and shaky. It scared you. He didn’t turn to look at you, too afraid that your face was going to contort into the answer he was dreading to know. You reach your hand to touch his shoulder and he flinches. Your confusion and anger were transforming in front of you into melancholy sympathy.

“Eddie I-” He turned to you and his face took the words from your mouth. The close to setting sun reflected all of the lights in his chocolate brown eyes. His lip trembled softly and his nose scrunched slightly. He was on the defensive, but he was really hurt. You had never seen this side of Eddie Munson and you were unsure if anyone had.

“Eddie, I was just joking.” Eddie mocked you. “Oh, Eddie, I just thought that it would be funny if me, the most perfect girl in fucking Hawkins would ask you, the freak, out on a date… Is that it, princess? Did I damage your reputation by rejecting you in front of everyone? How’d the joke turn out? Huh?” Eddie’s words cut through you and those pesky tears finally spilled. You kept your disappointed scowl.

“Don’t fucking cry at me. You’re just a mean fucking girl who was fucking popular. Now you’re a nobody. You hang out with fucking losers. But at least we’re fucking honest.” You felt everything spinning as Eddie’s words drowned you.

“I was being fucking honest!” You shove the boy by his broad shoulders and your words and strength throw him off balance. "God! Why is that so fucking hard to believe? Why would I do that to you? Why wouldn’t you just fucking trust me?!”

Eddie lunged at you, his hands flying to your cheeks and tears spilling from his own lashes. Your world stopped. His lips were rough against yours, a warm welcome. You didn’t know how much your body hid its want for him through your anger. But still, you pulled away and Eddie’s pale cheeks were brandished with a welt from your hand. Both of your chests heaved, the air feeling thick around you. Eddie could see the anger in your eyes, but he could feel the want you were emanating to him as well. He lunged at your hips, pushing you into the forest of corn behind you. Before you could mutter his name in protest, his lips were back on yours.

Eddie wanted to devour you whole, his lips greedy against yours - greedy to explore every part of your mouth, to feel your tongue in his. You obliged him happily, your heart backflipping with sudden satisfaction. Your body had forgotten how long you yearned for Eddie’s touch. It had been six months since you asked Eddie out, and six months of hating him because you thought he hated you. It was years of stealing looks at the brunette while he wasn’t looking - years of giggling under your hand at one of his cafeteria rants, all in secret because you weren’t supposed to like him. All of the butterflies in your stomachs, the curt smiles, the wanting - all leading up to this moment. Your skin felt like it was going to explode, hot under his touch. His grip on your hip and lower back was bruising. You took a moment to catch your breath as the metalhead’s plush lips trailed from the corners of your mouth down to your neck. You gasped as he sucked an unforgiving bruise onto your neck. Eddie shushed you with a soothing lick to his art on your skin.

“Eddie…” you wanted to carry your authority, but your warning came out as a plea. Eddie raised his head so he could meet your gaze.

“Gotta keep quiet, sweetheart. You don’t want anyone to hear us now, do you?” Eddie chided, your eyes rolled in annoyance but you were frozen. If Eddie wasn’t making all of the thoughts leave your head, you would be even more annoyed; whatever kind of dominance you tried to assert over him, he could make it all disappear with one touch - one smirk. The boy’s nimble fingers unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans without his eyes leaving yours. You mustered up all of the strength you could so you didn’t melt into him.

“I’m still fucking…mad at you, Eddie.” You panted. Eddie let out a soft moan of praise when his name left your mouth. The heat that pooled in your cheeks drained into your core. Eddie’s palm pressed against your abdomen as he sank his hand under your panties. His index finger swiped through your folds and you moaned. His free hand flew up to your mouth and he shot you a pointed look.

“It doesn’t feel like you’re very mad at me, doll” he sneered. “Unless that’s the kind of thing that gets you off…” He stuck his ring finger into your already soaked hole and your eyes fluttered. Eddie’s eyes bore into your fluttering orbs. “Show me how mad you are.”

If it was a challenge Eddie wanted, you were eager to accept. Your hands quickly mirrored his, fumbling with the elaborate buckle at his lithe hips. When you found purchase at the band of his boxers, his hand flew from your mouth to your lower back, already desperate to ground himself. The girl that he had been in love with for a year, the girl he never thought would like him back, the girl he hated so much because he loved her, was here with you now - albeit in the middle of a corn maze was not ideal - and he was rapidly losing his cool (as you could feel). You run your palm over his hardening cock. Eddie’s fingers stilled inside you as it was his turn to screw his eyes shut and try not to make any noise. You had to admit that his length was impressive. Even not fully erect yet, you could tell that he would be a mouthful. You could feel the saliva drooling in your mouth. You were growing desperate to taste him, but even more desperate to have the curly haired boy writhe underneath you.

You grabbed at Eddie’s wrist inside your pants and pulled him off of you. His face contorted in confusion then nervous anticipation as you lowered yourself to your knees and traced your hands down the tops of his toned thighs. A huff of anxious breath and your hands pulling down his boxers later and Eddie was fully exposed to you.

“You sure you want me to show you, Eds?” Your doe eyes challenged him from under him and you felt his knees buckle. You couldn’t suppress your giggle. You gave Eddie one last look as you kitten licked the tip of his reddening cock. He let out a hiss and threw his head back. You looked up at his bobbing Adam's apple and couldn’t help but think how beautiful his neck would look decorated with hickeys similar to the one you have. You Wrapped your mouth around his tip and sucked hard, continuing to bob up and down on his length until your eyes watered and a gag was threatening the back of your throat. There was no way you could fit all of him in your mouth, but you would be damned if you didn’t try. Eddie bit his lip so hard you would be tasting blood the next time he kissed you. You pushed yourself to Eddie’s base and smirked as you could hear the boy above you cursing and muttering. Eddie didn’t know what to do with himself, where to put his hands. He was full of helium; so light that he was going to drift away. He planted his hands within your hair, gripping your locks and pulling. When Eddie pulled your hair, you moaned into him, which sent him barreling too close to his impending orgasm.

“Y/N, please” Eddie whimpered. His desperate voice was pathetic, it made your pussy flutter. You pulled your mouth off of him and looked at him quizzically. “You gotta stop. I’m gonna -” You cut him off by shoving him all the way back into your mouth. You pushed farther than you had before, his manicured hairs meeting your face. The drool leaked out the sides of your mouth and onto his balls and you could feel Eddie’s painfully hard cock twitch at the back of your throat. You gagged and pulled yourself back off of the desperate boy. He couldn’t help but moan loudly and tighten his grip in your hair.

“But, you can’t come yet…. I’m not done with you.” Your eyes darkened and Eddie knew that he was to obey. You went back to work on his leaking tip. You flattened your tongue on him, tasting his salty precum and you moaned with satisfaction. Your nails dragged across his denim clad thighs. You were desperate for him to unravel, just for you. His babble of praises and curses under his breath spurred you on harder. You snake your hand down to cup his balls. Your name was sung from Eddie’s mouth like a prayer. You hummed into his twitching cock, a final encouragement for Eddie to cum. Ropes of Eddie’s orgasm hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him. You continued to bob your head, working Eddie through the waves of his finish. He pulled you off of him with a whimper and a puff of his chest.

You rise back from your knees, thumbing a rogue drop of cum that escaped from the side of your mouth. Eddie’s golden brown eyes were black, his pale skin flushed a beautiful pink. You knew it already, but right now solidified it for you - Eddie Munson was a fallen angel. His porcelain complexion seemed to glow in the setting sun. His eyelashes kissed the apples of his cheeks when he closed his eyes. His brows furrowed perfectly across his forehead. His ringlet curls framed his face like one of the most beautiful paintings you had ever seen. You thought Eddie would be angry, or so turned on that he would take his frustration out on you, but your hopes dissolved when the darkness in Eddie’s eyes didn’t reflect the lust you anticipated, but a melancholy guilt. You looked to him, scared that you had made a mistake - that he was then going to turn around and say that he wanted to go back to being strangers… something that you couldn’t imagine doing, now that this line had been crossed.

You hated to admit it, as much as you assumed he did too, but you were an idiot. You let appearances and pride get in the way. You reached out to touch him but he recoiled from your touch, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

“Eddie-”

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you at Carver’s party.” His words were low, barely above a whisper. You caught your breath as your pesky tears bullied their way to your waterline. The only thing the two of you could hear was the distant laughter of other maze-goers and the soft rustling of leaves. Eddie took a step towards you, his eyes daring to look into yours for a split second.

“I-I never thought you would ever like someone like me…” Eddie’s hand found your cheek and rubbed small circles into your skin. “I thought if I couldn’t love you like I wanted to, it would be easiest to drive you away. I thought it was just a joke, you know, someone like you wanting to go out with someone like me…” Eddie’s voice cracked. His eyes grew glassy.

“Eddie…” You peeped. “I would never do anything like that to anyone, especially you. I really liked you.. Fuck I do really like you. That’s why it hurt so much when you shut me down. I… I couldn’t fucking take it.” You peel your eyes away from him, you wouldn’t dare look at him after your confession. The walls you had built were slowly coming down, but you were terrified of letting him in fully, with what he had put you through before. You were scared of Eddie Munson, you were scared of him because you love him.

“Fuck, Y/N I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His toned arms wrapped around your hips and he pulled you into his chest. You could hear how hard the boy’s heart was beating. Yours felt like it was slowly being put back together with every beat you felt. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I really want to start over and try again… If you’ll let me. He pulls away from you enough to study your face. You hold his stare, desperately searching for any uncertainty in Eddie’s eyes. He looks at you fully with sorrow and adoration. You nod slowly, still scared but hopeful.

Eddie’s lips meet yours again, but his approach was soft, giving you ample time to pull away from him, but to his surprise (and delight), you didn’t. His lips brushed yours like you were made of rose petals, he was desperate to appreciate you, but didn’t want you to fall apart in his grasp. His lips moved against yours, both of you trying to pour your feelings and unsaid words into your kiss. Eddie’s tongue swiped against your bottom lip in a silent ask to kiss you deeper. You open for him and let your tongue glide into his mouth as well. You mewl into him as your arms reach around his neck. You pull away and Eddie rests his forehead on yours.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Eddie offers. “As much as I like this, I think you deserve to be taken out on an actual date, or at least to my place where we can actually talk” You giggled and a smile spread across Eddie’s face. He had no idea how much he needed to make you laugh. If there was anything that he wanted to achieve in his life from this point on, it was to be the reason you laughed. You twirled a piece of his locks in your finger and peered up at him.

“I would really like that, Eddie.” He smiled at you and pulled himself away to do up your jeans. He reached for your hand and pulled you back towards the opening the two of you had made. He dropped your hand when you had returned to the dirt path of the maze. You walked mostly in silence, but let your shoulders knock. Eddie’s eyes migrated to your hands when his mind drifted.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Can… Can I hold your hand?” You didn’t let Eddie respond before grabbing his calloused hands. Both of you couldn’t hold back the smiles that split across your faces. You took your time walking through the maze, cherishing the dwindling time the two of you had together.

It had been close to half an hour since Robin and Jonathan had met up with Nancy and Steve.

“Maybe we should send in a recon team to recover Eddie’s corpse… god knows Y/N has killed him by now.” Robin sneered.

“Oh come off it, Robin… if they aren’t here within the next 10 minutes, Jonathan and I will go get them” Steve offered, hands resting firmly on his hips.

Your figures emerge from the mouth of the maze, illuminated by the bright moon in the darkening sky. Your hands had dropped when you came into view of your exit, but your bodies remained closer than when you entered.

“Rough night?” Robin prodded. You laughed and rolled your eyes while Nancy elbowed the blonde in her ribs.

“Yeah you could say that,” you giggled. You flashed Eddie a knowing smile and his hand went to his head as he looked to the ground.

“I thought we weren’t gonna fucking make it.” He jested.

“Yeah right, you were the one that kept making wrong turns.” Your banter was back, but the rest of the group noticed the light-heartedness of your tone. Steve smiled in a small approval. He was worried he was going to have to kick Eddie’s ass tonight, but he was hopeful that things had gone well.

“Let’s get out of here, I have had enough of this maze and our movies aren’t going to watch themselves.” You send a small elbow to Eddie’s arm as the six of you head for Eddie’s van. Nancy wraps her arm in yours as you push to the front of the group.

“So… how did it go?” Nancy asked, your face couldn’t help the rouge that grew on your cheeks.

“It actually went pretty well.” you bit down on your lip to hide the smile creeping on your face.

“Girl, what is that on your neck?”

taglist: @eddies-acousticguitar @mmunson86 @sadbitchfangirl @hideoutside @anxiousobserver @ali-r3n @brinleighsstuff @filth-fiction-archive @vintagehellfire @kirstinjayjay @poofyloofy @sluggzillaa @aol19 @dark-angel-is-back @keikoraven @emxxblog @adrenalineeerevolver @crybabyddl @lovemegood @cherry-pop3547 @munsquinns If you would like to be added to my taglist, please follow and fill out this form!

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson ff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson enemies to lovers #eddie munson x female reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things au #kinktober #eddie munson edit #carly writes #stanger things fanfiction #fanfiction

129 notes · View notes

halloweenhuh · 6 months

Text

Halloween, Huh? Day 3 Reveals

Freaky Friday (I woke up in my enemy's body) Rated M - 8,873 words “So he’s entered some weird-ass, stress-induced fever dream where he’s in Henry’s body. It’s probably, like, the latent guilt Alex feels for the repercussions this will have on his mom’s approval rating even though the whole thing is objectively stupid and people will forget about it in a week.”

Or, a FirstPrince Body Swap AU.

.🎃🎃🎃.

Save a horse - Rated E - 4,616 words This year’s Halloween costume was a no-brainer for Alex. Sure, the Barbie movie was questionable, to say the least, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that the costumes were really fun, and as soon as he saw Barbie and Ken coming out of that store with full-on cowboy outfits, he knew he needed that in his life- in his and Henry’s life, actually.

He even had the costumes custom made for them. And maybe he requested for Henry’s jeans to be a little tighter than the original ones, whatever. He is allowed.

.🎃🎃🎃.

Life is a maze, and love is a riddle - E - 3,093 words Alex, June, and Nora take Henry to his first haunted corn maze.

.🎃🎃🎃.

Taste the Way You Bleed - Rated T - 3,923 words “It’s been 427 years,” June says matter-of-factly.

Bea nods. “Ever since Alex’s first bi-annual vampire orgy.” Her gaze flickers away from her cards and over to the camera. “Henry got flustered and snubbed him, you see.”

“If anyone knows how to hold onto a grudge, it’s Alex,” June sighs.

“They hardly spoke for the next two centuries.” Bea plays a card. “Then Pez suggested a change of scenery, and we all moved to Brooklyn.”

“Now they’re just Like This.”

(A What We Do in the Shadows AU. Two centuries of living together haven't made Alex and Henry any better at getting along, but when a possible vampire hunter moves in across the street, Alex will be dusted before he lets anything happen to his nemesis.)

.🎃🎃🎃.

Heart enough - Rated T - 8,012 words "...there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement."

Instead of Alex flying to London, Henry is sent to D.C. to do the post Cakegate damage control just in time for Alex and June's annual Halloween party.

.🎃🎃🎃.

Fall Fun - Rated T - 2,713 words Alex and Henry need a break from their hectic NYC life, so they take a long fall weekend to drive around upstate NY/New England. Pretty foliage, corn mazes, hiking, apple cider donuts, cute B&Bs, etc.!

.🎃🎃🎃.

A little note for all of our wonderful creators: if your work was revealed by the Palace today, please be sure to update your publication date to today’s date so it shows up fresh in the AO3 feed.

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #halloween huh #fandom event #prompt fest #asked and answered #red white and royal blue movie #rwrb fanfic #rwrb podfic

73 notes · View notes

zkylearnstherope · 7 months

Text

My Fan Theories for Alan Becker's AvA 6 - Episode 2

It gets revealed that The Dark Lord is not actually evil.

Like Red before, Dark got possessed/corrupted and it somehow revived/enhanced Alan's code inside him. Chosen must've sensed this, because I think he held back a lot in the Showdown Episode.

He was named The Chosen One, damnit! He's supposed to level up along with his enemies. He can't possibly lose a fight.

He sensed something was wrong, but is not smart enough to save Dark.

victim actually works for the government/police.

When they summoned Alan's cursor during Showdown, it created public unease in the city. Like, A CREATOR IS ACTUALLY HERE!

The cursor was big enough to be spotted in the city. And when someone came to investigate, all they saw were laser marks on the ground and a missing mountain.

Naturally, the #1 suspect would be The Chosen One. In the Wanted Episode, when he saved the office worker from the falling debris with his lasers, the office worker either (a) covered his eyes to look at the bright sky, or (b) actually saluted back to Chosen.

I think it's B. So, people in the city are actually familiar with the rocket man in the sky. He would've reacted differently if it's the first time they saw Chosen. And don't get me started with the nonchalant reaction of the Corn Dog Guy.

So with this in mind, how would anyone capture a what is essentially, a virtual god? They will go for the smartest man they know, produces the most advanced technology, and who obviously has connections with Chosen since they look exactly the same.

I don't think victim is out for revenge. Like, why would he wait all this time to get back at Alan? He has all the resources now, his own company (that sells TVs), like, what else could he ask for?

I choose to believe in victim. He's the type to defend himself rather than hurt someone else. He even stopped the 3 members of the rocket group from killing The Second Coming, and asked Agent to bring him alive.

They even unpaused Second at the end. Which makes me believe that victim would want to talk/negotiate with him. What victim needs is INFORMATION, and he's not getting that from The Chosen One.

victim is actually looking for The Dark Lord

I believe Second's powers has something to do with antivirus and codes. And firing that mega-laser actually disabled Alan's Code, and in fact, DID NOT KILL Dark.

Dark surviving off-screen is not really a far stretch. Because, it already happened before in the Flashback Episode.

Now, if you take into consideration all the stuff I mentioned above...

The rocket group approaches The Chosen One, asking for The Dark Lord.

Chosen, remembering all the crimes they did during the Internet Conquest, fearing for his friend, he gets apprehensive and starts to escape. Instead of letting him get away, they had to use all the tools at their disposal. And then enter the epic chase scene from Wanted.

Other sub plot theories

Purple will show up and help them, since he actually lived in the city before, judging by the location of his Mom's grave. Purple would know about the rocket group, and can guide/help the others to stop them.

We'll see Red cry for the first time.

The fight will go like this:

Green vs. Agent Smith - both great with staffs, spears, or any long-ranged weapons, I also think that Green would be fast enough to match Agent

Red vs. Hunter/Primal - pure strength and heavy muscle

Yellow and Blue vs. Ballista/Pixel - G U N S

Purple vs. Hazard/Sign - being trained by his father Navy, Purple is actually really good at hand-to-hand combat

Alan's Giant Cursor form is not going to show up this time.

victim is going to teach Second about his powers.

---

God, I can't wait for the next episode.

#ava theory #alan becker #animator vs animation #ava 6 #ava tsc #ava second coming #ava season 2 #ava the second coming #ava chosen one

24 notes · View notes

homomenhommes · 4 months

Text

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … December 21

1804 – Benjamin Disraeli (d.1881) was a British Conservative politician, writer and aristocrat who twice served as Prime Minister. He played a central role in the creation of the modern Conservative Party, defining its policies and its broad outreach. Disraeli is remembered for his influential voice in world affairs, his political battles with the Liberal leader William Gladstone, and his one nation conservatism or "Tory democracy". He made the Conservatives the party most identified with the glory and power of the British Empire. He is, as of 2015, the only British Prime Minister of Jewish birth. Disraeli was born in London. His father left Judaism after a dispute at his synagogue; young Benjamin became an Anglican at age 12.

Together with his sister's fiancé, William Meredith, Disraeli travelled widely in southern Europe and beyond in 1830–31. The trip was financed partly by a novel, The Young Duke, written by Disraeli in 1829–30. The tour was cut short suddenly by Meredith's death from smallpox in Cairo in July 1831. Despite this tragedy, and the need for treatment for a sexually transmitted disease on his return, Disraeli felt enriched by his experiences. He became aware of values that seemed denied to his insular countrymen. The journey encouraged his self-consciousness, his moral relativism, and his interest in Eastern racial and religious attitudes.

After several unsuccessful attempts in which his opposition accused Disraeli of practicing "Eastern love", i.e. homosexuality, Disraeli entered the House of Commons in 1837. When the Conservatives gained power in 1841, Disraeli was given no office by the Prime Minister, Sir Robert Peel. In 1846, Peel split the party over his proposal to repeal the Corn Laws, which imposed a tariff on imported grain. Disraeli clashed with Peel in the Commons. The Conservatives who split from Peel had few who were adept in Parliament, and Disraeli became a major figure in the party, though many in it did not favor him. When Lord Derby, the party leader, thrice formed governments in the 1850s and 1860s, Disraeli served as Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons. He also forged a bitter rivalry with the Liberal Party’s William Gladstone.

Upon Derby's retirement in 1868, Disraeli became Prime Minister briefly before losing that year's election. He returned to opposition, before leading the party to a majority in the 1874 election. He maintained a close friendship with Queen Victoria, who in 1876 created him Earl of Beaconsfield. Disraeli's second term was dominated by the Eastern Question—the slow decay of the Ottoman Empire and the desire of other European powers, such as Russia, to gain at its expense. Disraeli arranged for the British to purchase a major interest in the Suez Canal Company (in Ottoman-controlled Egypt). In 1878, faced with Russian victories against the Ottomans, he worked at the Congress of Berlin to obtain peace in the Balkans at terms favourable to Britain and unfavourable to Russia, its longstanding enemy. This diplomatic victory over Russia established Disraeli as one of Europe's leading statesmen.

World events thereafter moved against the Conservatives. Controversial wars in Afghanistan and South Africa undermined his public support. He angered British farmers by refusing to reinstitute the Corn Laws in response to poor harvests and cheap imported grain. With Gladstone conducting a massive speaking campaign, his Liberals bested Disraeli's Conservatives in the 1880 election. In his final months, Disraeli led the Conservatives in opposition. He had throughout his career written novels, beginning in 1826, and he published his last completed novel, Endymion, shortly before he died at the age of 76.

1917 – In Russia, the Bolsheviks nullified many laws including the one making sex between men a criminal act. Seventeen years later Article 121 would re-criminalize it, carrying a sentence up to five years "deprivation of freedom."

1944 – Michael Tilson Thomas, the American conductor, was born today. A conductor, pianist, composer and director of the San Francisco Symphony, Thomas has become in a relatively short time one of the most prominent American conductors of his generation. Perhaps most significantly, he is the first Gay conductor to achieve such prominence without masking or hiding his sexuality.

Tilson Thomas does not discuss his sexuality or his personal life with the public, but his dedication to creating and presenting music that explores the Gay experience confirms his importance as a Gay conductor.

Not only has he impressed audiences with his musical vision, talented conducting, and prolific number of recordings, but he has also used his position to commission works by Gay composers that use the medium of classical music to represent Gay life and Gay history.

To this end, he organized the American Mavericks music festival in San Francisco in June 2000. The festival highlighted the works of such composers as Lou Harrison, Lukas Foss, Earle Brown, Steve Reich, David Del Tredici, and Meredith Monk. Tilson Thomas has similarly pushed audiences to rethink the relationship between classical music and homosexuality by celebrating openly Gay composers such as Harrison and by commissioning works from Del Tredici and others that explicitly explore the experiences of Gay men and Lesbians. Although Gay men and Lesbians have long been present in the world of classical music, both as performers and as audience members, they have often remained invisible. Tilson Thomas has taken bold steps to change this.

In May 2001, Tilson Thomas conducted the premiere of Del Tredici's Gay Life, a series of pieces he commissioned that are based on poems by Allen Ginsberg, Thom Gunn, and Paul Monette. The work both explores the experiences of Gay men in America and also delves into the challenges that Gay men have faced in their struggle to survive the AIDS epidemic.

In addition, two of Tilson Thomas' own compositions have added to the small but growing classical music repertoire focused on Gay subjects. Three Poems by Walt Whitman, written for baritone and orchestra, and We Two Boys Together Clinging, for baritone and pian

o, use Whitman's poetry to explore intimacy between men.

1947 – Dr. Steven Watson, born on this date, is a cultural historian who is particularly interested in the dynamics of the twentieth century American avant-garde.

His 1991 book Strange Bedfellows: The First American Avant-Garde was called "a chapter in our national biography" by Stefan Kanfer for the Los Angeles Times and "a marvelous group portrait of a band of cultural renegades" by Publishers Weekly. Watson has written five books about 20th century American avant-garde and counterculture movements, curated two exhibitions at the National Portrait Gallery ("Group Portrait, The First American Avant-Garde" and "Rebels: Painters and Poets of the 1950's"), and served as consultant curator for the Whitney Museum exhibition "Beat Culture and the New America".

Watson grew up in the suburbs of Minneapolis, Minnesota and graduated from Mound High School. He majored in English at Stanford University and participated in anti-Vietnam War protests, including a guerrilla theater piece called Alice in ROTC-Land, co-starring with Sigourney Weaver.

After graduation, he founded an alternative elementary school called KNOW School in Auburn, California. He studied psychology at the University of California, Santa Barbara, where he received his Ph.D. in 1976, and he worked for nineteen years as the staff psychologist of the Putnam County Community Mental Health Clinic.

In 1976, Watson also began writing articles for the Village Voice, New York Newsday, Soho Weekly News, and Gaysweek. His work on gay culture included the first major article about Marsha P. Johnson, an early extended interview with Sylvia Rivera, and a book about the transgender figure, Minette. At the same time, he began writing books about key circles of the twentieth century.

He currently lives in New York City.

1969 – Jack Noseworthy Jr. is an American actor, whose most visible movie roles were in Event Horizon, U-571, Barb Wire and Killing Kennedy.

He was born in Lynn, Massachusetts, and graduated from Lynn English High School in 1982 and attended Boston Conservatory, where he earned a BFA.

He appeared in Bon Jovi's music video "Always", with Carla Gugino and Keri Russell. He co-starred with Meryl Streep in the Public Theater's 2006 production of Mother Courage and Her Children.

He starred in a short-lived MTV drama series, Dead at 21. In December 2005, he originated the role of Armand in the musical Lestat during its pre-Broadway run at the Curran Theatre in San Francisco, but left the production during its first week of previews. He is also the only male actor to play Peter Pan on Broadway, in the revue Jerome Robbins' Broadway.

Noseworthy made his debut as a nightclub performer in September 2006 at the Metropolitan Room in New York City in "You Don't Know Jack!".

In 2013, Noseworthy played Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy in Killing Kennedy, a made-for-television movie aired on National Geographic Channel.

In 2018, Noseworthy joined the Canadian production of Come from Away, in the role of Kevin T. and others.

Noseworthy has been in a relationship with Tony-winning choreographer Sergio Trujillo since 1990. They married in 2011. Noseworthy and Trujillo have a son born in 2018.

1969 – Gay Liberation Front members Jim Owles and Marty Robinson and about twelve people met in Arthur Bell’s Manhattan apartment and founded The Gay Activists Alliance (GAA). Author Arthur Evans wrote the group’s statement of purpose and much of its constitution. Acting on the principle that the personal is the political, GAA held homophobes who were in positions of authority personally accountable for the consequences of their public policies.

Accordingly, Robinson, Evans, and Owles developed the tactic of “zaps.” These were militant (but non-violent) face-to-face confrontations with outspoken homophobes in government, business, and the media. Evans was often arrested in such actions, participating in disruptions of local business offices, political headquarters, local TV shows, and the Metropolitan Opera.

In effect, GAA created a new model of gay activism, highly theatrical while also eminently practical and focused. It forced the media and the political establishment to take Gay concerns seriously as a struggle for justice. Previously the media treated Gay life as a peripheral freak show. The new Gay activism inspired Gay people to act unapologetically from a position of Gay Pride. This new model inspired other Gay groups across the county, eventually triggering revolutionary improvements in Gay life that continue to this day.

In November 1970, Robinson and Evans, along with Dick Leitsch of the Mattachine Society, appeared on the Dick Cavett Show. They were among the first openly Gay activists to be prominently featured as guests on a national TV program.

1988 – The Oregon Court of Appeals reverses two public indecency convictions of men looking for sex in restrooms, finding a right to sexual privacy even outside of enclosed stalls.

2007 – Nepal Supreme Court orders the end of anti-LGBTQ laws and creates new laws that safeguard LGBTQ people.

2009 – Mexico City legalises same-sex marriage and adoption by same-sex couples (effective March 2010)

14 notes · View notes

officialyourdailyinspiration · 5 months

Text

New Jerusalem

1 For Zion I shall not be still, and for Jerusalem I shall not rest, till the just man thereof go out as shining, and the saviour thereof be tended as a lamp. (For the sake of Zion I shall not be silent, and for the sake of Jerusalem I shall not rest, until its justice goeth out like the shining sun, and its deliverance, or its salvation, be tended like a lamp.)

2 And heathen men shall see thy just man, and all kings shall see thy noble man; and a new name, which the mouth of the Lord named, shall be called to thee. (And the heathen shall see thy justice, and all the kings shall see thy nobility; and thou shalt be called by a new name, which the mouth of the Lord shall proclaim.)

3 And thou shalt be a crown of glory in the hand of the Lord, and a diadem of the realm in the hand of thy God.

4 Thou shalt no more be called forsaken, and thy land shall no more be called desolate; but thou shalt be called My will in that, and thy land (That that) shall be inhabited; for it pleased the Lord in thee, and thy land shall be inhabited. (Thou shalt no more be called Deserted, and thy land shall no more be called Desolate, but thou shalt be called Hephzibah, or I am pleased, or delighted, with her, and thy land shall be called Beulah, or Married; for the Lord is pleased with thee, and thy land is wedded to him.)

5 For a young man shall dwell with a virgin, and thy sons shall dwell in thee; and the spouse shall have joy on the spouses, and thy God shall have joy on thee. (For like a young man shall live with a virgin, so thou, his sons and daughters, shall live with him; and like the spouse shall have joy in the spouses, so thy God shall have joy in thee.)

6 Jerusalem, I have ordained keepers on thy walls, all day and all night without end they shall not be still. Ye that think on the Lord, be not still, (Jerusalem, I have ordained guards upon thy walls, and they shall not keep silent day or night, but shall always be ready to sound the alarm. Ye who think upon the Lord, be not silent,)

7 and give ye not silence to him, till he stablish, and till he set Jerusalem (a) praising in (all) [the] earth.

8 The Lord swore in his right hand, and in the arm of his strength, I shall no more give thy wheat (to be) meat to thine enemies, and alien sons shall not drink thy wine, in which thou hast travailed. (The Lord swore by his right hand, and by the strength of his arm, saying, I shall no more give thy corn to be food for thy enemies, and foreigners, or strangers, shall not drink thy wine, for which thou hast laboured so.)

9 For they that shall gather it together, shall eat it, and shall praise the Lord; and they that bear it together, shall drink (it) in mine holy foreyards. (For they who shall gather it together, shall eat it, and shall praise the Lord; and they who shall bring it in, shall drink it in my holy courtyards.)

10 Pass ye, pass ye by the gates; make ye ready (a) way to the people, make ye a plain path; and choose ye [the] stones, and raise ye [up] a sign to peoples. (Go ye out, go ye out by the gates; make ye ready a way for my people, make ye a plain path; yea, clear ye away the stones, and raise ye up a sign for the nations.)

11 Lo! the Lord made heard in the last parts of the earth. Say ye to the daughter of Zion, Lo! thy saviour cometh; lo! his meed is with him, and his work is before him. (Lo! the Lord made it heard unto the ends of the earth: Say ye to the daughter of Zion, Lo! thy Saviour cometh; lo! his reward is with him, and his work is before him.)

12 And they shall call them the holy people, again-bought of the Lord. Forsooth thou shalt be called a city sought, and not forsaken. (And they shall call them the holy people, the redeemed of the Lord. And thou shalt be called a city sought out, and not abandoned.) — Isaiah 62 | Wycliffe's Bible (WYC) The Wycliffe Bible is in the public domain. Cross References: Exodus 19:6; Leviticus 26:16; Deuteronomy 28:31; Psalm 68:4; Psalm 74:2; Song of Solomon 3:11; Song of Solomon 4:8; Isaiah 1:26; Isaiah 11:10; Isaiah 18:1; Isaiah 26:2; Isaiah 28:5; Isaiah 54:1; Isaiah 54:6-7; Isaiah 55:2; Isaiah 65:13; Matthew 21:5; Luke 18:1; 1 Thessalonians 2:19; Hebrews 13:17; 1 Peter 2:9; Revelation 2:17; Revelation 3:12; Revelation 22:12

#Zion's salvation #new name #holy people #purchased #redeemed #the Lord #New Jerusalem #Isaiah 62 #Book of Isaiah #Old Testament #WYC #Wycliffe's Bible

11 notes · View notes

wudlund · 11 months

Text

inspired by @squea 's corn gp, playing as a vamp and completing all aspirations <3

so here's toe (mistletoe worley) on her 2nd aspiration - lady of the knits !

she lives in forgotten hollow atm and is married to vlad (post makeover ofc)

completed aspirations: friend of the animals bodybuilder extreme sports enthusiast painter extraordinaire musical genius bestselling author best actress master maker lady of the knits -> in progress... public enemy chief of mischief villainous valentine successful lineage big happy family vampire family super parent master chef master mixologist fabulously wealthy mansion baron renaissance sim nerd brain computer whiz master vampire archaeology scholar academic serial romantic soulmate city native strangerville mystery beach life mt. komorebi sightseer freelance botanist the curator angling ace outdoor enthusiast jungle explorer eco innovator country caretaker joke star party animal friend of the world neighbourhood confidante leader of the pack good vampire world-famous celebrity inner peace self-care specialist zen guru

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 gameplay #toe gp #sims 4 gameplay #ts4 aspirations #wudlund

36 notes · View notes

squea · 2 months

Text

corns first vacation, first break-in, first kiss, first hangover. also he needs 12 friends and we are currently on... 4... (he fell out with Berrie)

also he came across @minimooberry 's drega in willow creek and of course he was smitten. but then she didnt turn up for their date the next day so other things happened there.

prev / next

#u know that spongebob bit with the water thats like. i dont need it. i dont need it. thats corn in the 4th pic with drega #hes a weak man in a world of pretty people #ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 gameplay #corn gp #cornelius kidney #corn: friend of the world #corn: public enemy #berrie by buttertrait #drega by minimooberry

369 notes · View notes

just-osomatsu · 1 year

Text

callout post on mod rat

hey guys, mod plastic here, I know you guys like @\mod rat and all that but this is a callout post on them.

it all started on april the 7th (6th for you americans out there). you might not know this, but I am an og enstarrie (*ensemble stars fan) who's been in the fandom since the beginning. my one sole wish was for any one of my friends to also become an enstarrie so I had someone to share my joys and wonders of the world of virtual male idols with. none of my friends like hypmic. none of my friends like paradox live. none of my friends like argonavis. none of my friends like twisted wonderland. none of my friends like enstars. well, one does, but they're a trickstarP and ra*bitsP so naturally they are my enemy moreso than my friend.

on april 7th (*6th for americanos), my best friend, my kinnie enabler, the consumer of my plastic antics for the past [looks at clock attached to my cup-sized red cup body] I don't fucking know how many years it feels like forever

mod rat downloaded enstars.

"finally," I said to myself "finally I got one"

it was gonna be perfect, I thought, I finally had someone to unleash all my contained lore information on, finally I had someone to overanalyse shumika with, finally I could be a merumeruP in public and build my anti-tatsumi army with its second follower.

it was going to be perfect. I had thought.

I thought wrong.

april 23rd (アメリカでは22日), the first catastrophe happened.

oh no...

no....

Devastated, I rolled over to the corner of my dusty shelf, wallowing with the other abandoned cups.

I began to mumble to myself, trying to reason with this truth, "Well, Rinne is kinda problematic, I can see why some don't like him."

I thought I could come to terms with it. I thought I could live with this.

After all, what is a virtual singing boy compared to a strong bond between two mates-

....................

"A- at least I can still talk about merumeru with them, right-"

What are we in this world but a mere stack of red cups at a teenage party, ready to tumble at any moment and spill whatever drink we may or may not contain over some parents' carpet flooring?

In a world where plastic straws and bags are replaced by paper, corn and bamboo - were do we cups stand? Where do we go?

Life is supposed to have its ups and downs. But for plastic like myself?

Are we to be recycled, or not to be...

A wise man once said;

But what the fuck does Ray know? Dude's probably a TatsumiP.

#mod plastic

17 notes · View notes

alovelyburn · 1 year

Text

Rambles about the Conviction Arc Part 10

So we have arrived at the volume which contains the halfway mark of the series to date (at least in collected form). It’s kind of wild to think about, because Volume 20 came out in October 2000, which really drives home how much the publication speed slowed down.

I never really minded the waits honestly, but it is interesting. In retrospect, maybe the waits should have been even longer.

Anyway, lets get going. There’s a lot of cool stuff coming up.

Rambles about the Conviction Arc Part 10

So, Mozgus gets stung by the Behelit Apostle. Luca, Isidro, Jerome and Nina get corned by evil spirits that came calling because of Casca’s brand, Casca was suspended inside the jelly spirits being protected by the demon child, aaaand....

1. Mozgus shows up and burns through all the jelly spirits with his fire breath, which results in Casca being ejected but it also seems to be what ultimately killed the demon baby doesn’t it? Because it spent a great deal of its power protecting her and then Mozgus blasts the goo, and it falls away on fire and then later shows up in the behelit apostle’s cave, dying.

It’s just interesting – I never quite made that connection (or if I did, I don’t remember.... looking at old meta reminded me of a lot of things I noticed and then forgot about and then rediscovered in later readings, woops), but like... the behelit apostle gave Mozgus his power, he burned down the baby, and then the behelit apostle swallowed him to form Griffith and that is causality at work. I just imagine IoE out there with vein-and-artery-tentacles moving things around.

Okay so as usual: disclaimer that I rarely have much to say about big fight scenes or what Jerome and Nina are doing, so I may skip a lot.

2. That said I’M SORRY I JUST CAN’T WITH NINA I HAVE ZERO SYMPATHY FOR HER.

I mean let’s think about this situation right. Nina gets herself in trouble by being a witch, which I would have a lot more sympathy for if it didn’t involve eating stew made of humans, and bringing her boyfriend there because I guess she thinks eating humans is not going to bother him? BUT IT DOES, so she panics and takes off out of nowhere with Elainsca. They get arrested, she lets Casca get taken and then rats her out because of one pulled fingernail. Meanwhile, Luca is dragging her completely mundane backside through enemy headquarters to find and rescue them, and by total chance ends up falling from a building and Nina’s first thought is, SHE’S SO HEAVY followed by a powertrip about how she could just let go and Luca would die.

Now, don’t get me wrong here, I understand the psychology involved here. Nina feels helpless – that’s been one of her big issues this entire time. She’s helpless and weak and Luca is strong and protects her, she resents falling under the wing of someone so much stronger and kinder than her. I mean that’s probably why she fell in with the cannibal cult to begin with – that kind of group targets people who feel lost or sad or helpless. LIKE, I GET IT, but at the same time, oh my God.

And then Luca goes and proves that she is the best person in this manga, lmfao. I mean look, morally speaking there’s not a lot of truly good people in Berserk, but Luca is definitely one of them.

Obviously Skull Knight agrees.

Anyway.

3. I also think Luca is one of the best done female characters in the series. She’s consistent, she’s complicated, she’s charismatic and interesting, and she’s heroic on a normal scale that highlights the potential in humanity that is the other side of the horror that Berserk often focuses on.

That said, I’m curious as to why Skull Knight saved her. It doesn’t seem to have been a random act of kindness – I feel like he was interested in that seemingly self-sacrificial move and wanted to reward it or ask about it or something to that effect – it just makes me wonder if she’s reminding him of something or someone, or if he just likes people who stare death in the face, or something to that effect.

4. And here comes the next steps in the breaking down of Farnese’s world.

Trying to track where her head is at as the story progresses is pretty interesting. When she arrived at the Tower of Conviction, she had already been shaken by her encounter with Guts and the “miracles” that follow him around (or that he chases). She blames him for her doubts, she displaces her frustrations and fears onto him – he may not be the Hawk of Darkness, but he is responsible for her growing discontent and self-doubt, and she finds him distressing for it – later she calls him dreadful (an adjective also applied to Griffith but I’ll try to remember to hit that when it comes up).

And I mean every time she sees him the issue she has escalates even though he isn’t doing anything, right? It’s not too dissimilar to the reaction Gambino or his men had to Guts – he showed up and everything started going wrong, so its his fault.

Still she sees Mozgus and his followers transformed into these monstrous things, and they’re meant to be holy, aren’t they? It’s just another pebble in the wall between Farnese and her religion.

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, it does occur to me that a lot of the things Farnese is seeing actually are caused by Guts – or specifically by his brand – and that kind of is the reason her world starts breaking. If she hadn’t chased after Guts she never would have been there when his brand called all those spirits – hell, he wouldn’t have been in the situation to begin with given that she’s the reason he was there. She’d still be chugging along oblivious. I don’t know, it’s interesting because Guts actually is a walking disaster, isn’t he? And his presence, especially when Casca is also nearby, warps the world and shoots cracks through reality as your average person knows it.

And everyone who gets involved with them or anything around them gets dragged into it. I’m going to talk about that a LOT more next time, but for now...

Luca gets sucked into it too! Because obviously, if Nina hadn’t run off with Casca, she wouldn’t be in this situation either!

5.Wait, did the behelit apostle just call Skull Knight a living human? I’m going to try not to overinterpret that, but it’s... interesting. I think I always assumed that he’s a spirit (or a corpse) possessing that armor or at least not a human anymore.

Also... I think the way the corpses are laid out is interesting – more on that in a hot minute.

Also I do actually feel really terribly for the behelit apostle. He has this horrifying backstory and he is one of the apostles that you can say has decent intentions even if some readers may disagree with his actual actions in bringing Griffith back to the world. All of which is just me saying that panel of said apostle shivering in fear made me feel bad for him.

6. And another take on the Hawk symbol. I’m still kind of struggling with people’s desire to separate half ot he Hawk identity from Griffith and give it to Guts or whoever else. Like I understand the impulse when it comes to the hero/villain separation, I guess. But I feel like the constant variations on the symbol and how they all fit into the mythos of Griffith kind of makes breaking them apart awkward at least in my mind.

So there’s the cleanest and most abstract take – the Holy See symbol of the Hawk of Light. And then there’s the Black Hawk on a Stick – a representation of the wings of darkness. And the white hawk on a stick which I think is a step closer to honesty than either of the others – being made of corpses and all that. And now we have this, which is probably the most honest of them all, isn’t it? The way it represents the way the sacrifice actually gives rise to Femto, or to NeoGriffith – a hawk made up of the corpses of the dead. Even so, the shape it forms is that of the Hawk of Light symbol – a symbol of hope built from sacrifice. Whether you believe Griffith is evil or not, he’s still a symbol of hope and salvation to the people of Midland.

An idol made of the skin and bones of priests.

It tastes like old magic really.

7. I wonder who he was. The thing is, he can’t have grown up in that hole, you know? I mean this is kind of off the point and totally irrelevant and I don’t expect it to ever be relevant, but – if he had been born in that hole he would have died. Also when he talks about his first memory being scrounging for things to eat in the trash, he’s not a baby or even a toddler, he’s at least a teenager judging from that build and musculature. So like, what’s he doing there? Who put him there? Where was he before this?

And I’ve said this before, but It’s not... possible for me to perceive Apostles and Godhand as inherently Just the Worst. Because the situations that give rise to them are so horrific, so painful, that I.... don’t blame them for their actions. It’s one of those situations where you don’t know what you’d do until you’re in the situation, and I feel like the people who insist they’d never ever under any circumstances ever don’t understand human nature, and I’m not saying that I think humans are evil. I just think.... it’s easy to say you’d never and you’d always and imagine that you’re above cracking when you aren’t, say...

Buried in the bottom of a hole being crushed under a pile of corpses. Or dying from the poison your son gave you. That kind of thing.

Kind of a tangent but I do feel for every single one of them, no matter how horrible their behavior is. Because wherever they landed, they crawled out of hell to get there.

“Five Angels.” So this is a relatively recent event, assuming he hasn’t been there since before the current Godhand.

8. So this is interesting to me – the sacrifice is the world around him, but he hasn’t actually delivered that sacrifice yet, and here he is... an Apostle. This reminds me of the flashback to the Count’s transformation – he appears to have killed his wife himself when he was already in his slug form, which....

Kind of makes me wonder, you know? Godhand are built from the deaths of their sacrifices, but with Apostles it seems like they change and then they have to kill their sacrifices I guess? Or allow them to be killed as the case may be. I assume the consequence for not actually paying up is being dragged to Hell. Interesting.

Describing the Holy See as a deceit-filled system established to conceal the ugly chaos of the world hits different when you know Miura’s backstory regarding his father.

But I do think this is a pretty specific recounting, like he’s talking about how he grew up alone in the shadow of the tower, and then a bunch of new people showed up (the refugees that have been gathered around the tower throughout this arc), the indiscriminate nature of plague deaths and the panic it caused, followed by the Holy See sending their Knights and Mozgus there – the deceitful system controlling the area.

-the people caught between the plague behind them and the corrupt religion before them, and how that fear of death by sickness or witch-hunt gave rise to these death cults – that cauldron is the human soup, you know? They’re killing people out of fear of people being killed. The hunters (holy see) and hunted (witches/pagans), every one of the threatened (witches/pagans, holy see and the normals caught between these forces)... “was enthralled by the heat.” That’s interesting to me because, well it does come up a lot doesn’t it? The fire that is Griffith and the fires that represent dreams in the campfire scene. The burning corpses and the flames that Farnese fixated on.

It’s this sense to me that people take comfort and shelter and refuge in the literal and metaphorical fire but, like most things in berserk, there are two sides to it – the fire that comforts and the fire that burns. The fire that heals and the fire that kills.

And as for the behelit apostle himself...

He, an outsider rejected by the world, is left to be destroyed by the forces that have nothing to do with him. He’s just caught up in it as an innocent bystander as people are throwing the results of their suffering and fear down and killing him with it.

So what did he do after that – he took the corpses that nearly crushed him and laid them out individually like human beings.

9. Again, yet again, another statement on the nature of humanity, of their relationship with leaders, something that echoes back to Griffith and forward to Luca and so on and so forth. I’m a little braindead today as I’m typing this so bear with me if I’m less coherent than I’d like to be, but I feel very strongly about this so I’ma try it anyway.

I did a post a while back about the way Griffith seems to perceive (in his torture monologue) the people who bow and scrape to him and suck up to him. It’s kind of bouncing off of this:

Where he describes the way he affects people as inspiring either good will (which turns into trust or fellowship) or hatred, which turns into awe or dread. The best examples offhand of the latter would be I think Julius (dread) and Foss (awe) – the way they perceived him and the way their view of him evolves in relation to his actions around and toward them. It’s Julius seeing his face in the fire (MORE ON THAT IN A SECOND) or Foss turning into one of his biggest supporters after NeoGrififth returns to the world.

But if you think about that – the way he perceived “awe” when juxtaposed with the way the Hawks often reacted to him – he’s like a miracle, he’s like a saint, he’s like a hero from a storybook – it kind of tells you what he thinks of (some) of them, right? Like in the case of someone like Casca or Guts, these are people who more or less started out liking him (Guts needed a minute but you know) – that probably slots in his head into good will that turns to fellowship and trust. But someone like Foss, or someone like Corkus – people who begin with animosity and are kind of beaten into submission – they’re never going to really feel like they “like” him, I think. And this is kind of carried through in his relationship with the nobles who smile in his face and try to hitch a ride with him into glory but talk shit about him when he turns his back.

Anyway the point is, it’s that same idea – a recurring theme in the series. It’s also how Farnese ends up following Guts- she starts with animosity and it changes first into dread (she even describes him explicitly as dreadful) and then into awe as she becomes one of his biggest supporters as well. Hell, it’s even represented in Farnese’s relationship with the pyre flames – she starts afraid and then she embraces it as a means of self-protection.

So like, ok why am I talking about Griffith in the midst of this ramble that has nothing to do with him, it’s because he, and his relationship with the world, is the biggest and most far-reaching example of what’s being brought up here. And that’s reflected in things like the behelit apostle talking about how all these desperate people – the feared and fearful, hunted and hunters, all fixating on the fire- the light – the thing that Griffith is repeatedly compared to. It’s also the thing Luca represents to someone like Nina – someone who doesn’t have strength behind her own light, so she stands in Luca’s and tries to keep warm, all the while resenting that she can’t supply enough heat to survive on her own.

But also I don’t think it doesn’t have anything to do with Griffith and here’s why. That description – that statement to the effect of “people gather and fixate on the light...”

Isn’t that explicitly what Griffith’s relationship with the Hawks was meant to be?

I mean this is why Guts left the Hawks - he didn’t want to be Nina, gathering around Griffith’s light and feeding on his heat to stay warm and resenting it. He wanted to have his own light that could sustain him... because he believed that Griffith could only respect someone who had that thing. The misunderstanding was personal between them but its also specific to Guts, because his lack of self-esteem blinds him to the reality that he already has his own light - that’s much of why Griffith is drawn to him to begin with.

That was kind of a tangent but I really think this stuff is important to the series. But back to the topic...

To emphasize the Griffith parallel we follow up with the behelit apostle literally sitting on the symbol that represents Griffith’s return, staring over a scene that evokes the bonfire flames:

And then, of course, the comparison is made very explicit:

Everyone gathers around fire, they seek the heat and support of those greater than they are, but in the end, there is one thing that they all crave – the greatest light, the greatest fire, and that is....

The hawk made of human skin? Yeah, well. The hawk made of material that resembles the faces in the Abyss – the faces on the landscape of the eclipse. And the symbol that represents, as Guts said, the biggest light, the blazing inferno. The collective will of humanity.

I think when (some) people read this kind of thing, whether it’s in the manga proper or in analysis thereof, there’s this desire to rebel against the idea that this thing made of dead flesh – this thing that killed their own men and sexually assaulted one of the major characters in the series, can really be intended to embody light – to be a savior, a messiah, whatever. And I do understand that, but I think to really get what’s being implied (and more than implied) you kind of have to let go of a lot of assumptions about what those things mean.

Darkness isn’t wholly bad, light isn’t wholly good, humanity doesn’t exclusively want good things or bad things, not every good intentioned thing you do has a good result and not every horrible thing you do has a bad result. And really, one big difference I think between Berserk’s concept of the messiah/the desired and the real world’s catholic/Christian concept of the same is that in the real world a messiah is meant to be better than humanity, and in Berserk it is explicitly someone who is representative of humanity, in all its beauty and ugliness. The IoE says that Griffith’s actions will be appropriate for humanity specifically because he himself is human.

Now, two other things to note about this:

-the Behelit apostle has a sacrifice brand on its tongue. I take this to mean that even though it’s an apostle, it’s ... also a sacrifice, as it must die to give rise to Griffith’s new form.

And also...

-he calls Griffith “the definitive missing piece between the old world and the new.” Which I think strongly supports the theory that the incarnated Godhand is meant to kickstart the next era of humanity by ending the present one (sometimes quite aggressively as in the case of the world merger) and bringing it through to the next stage.

There are some other things to support that, but most of them are far in the future. I will say that the Godhand behind Void, during the eclipse that presumably birthed Void, are made to resemble gods and monsters from the ancient world (Ancient Greece and Sumeria, etc).

The apostle’s story genuinely just breaks my heart but before I get into that...

10. These sections of chatter about like the worldbuilding, the way the Berserk cosmology is built, the Berserk take on fate and angels and the way things interconnect with one another are genuinely... genuinely... among my favorite scenes in the series. This is kind of popping off a little I guess, but one of the things that saddens me about the Berserk fandom as a whole is the general disinterest in the world itself – the cosmology, the philosophy, the focus on balance and cycles. It may sound strange from me, a person who literally writes shippy fanfic, but even as the characters and relationships are precious to me, the world itself and the metaplot that carries it are just as important. I mean one of the main reasons I love Griffith so much is that he embodies the story’s themes more than anyone else... especially NeoGriffith which is why he’s my favorite Griffith variant.

In a lot of ways the characters exist as an expression of those themes and aspects of the world. Like okay Berserk is “about” the Guts and Griffith relationship, but the Guts and Griffith relationship is, in itself, an expression of the core theme of the story which is about the balance of opposites. If you see where Miura talked about how as the story progressed it would veer into things like Tao and Qi and then you look into Tao, you can start to piece that together and I’m not saying that I understand it all either – what I know about Tao can fit in a Wikipedia entry. But like think about the reason that Guts and Griffith are referred to as one another’s “other halves,” you know? And then there’s Godhand cycle.

That was kind of a sidetrack, but anyway yeah, what I get from this is that the new age is starting – and I think it’s shortsighted to say YEAH THE HORRIBLE AGE, THE AGE OF DARKNESS, because that’s just a tunnel you move through.

Now, the Behelit apostle.

11. “It will appear in exchange for such a tiny... no... for something that never even existed in this world. My existence.”

His desire to be remembered, to be understood, is heartbreaking to me and this next bit is actually from the end of a later chapter, but it closes off the main part of the Behelit Apostle’s story and doesn’t fit as well in sequence for my purposes (fine for pacing, just not for analysis), so let’s finish his story...

As he faces his own death.

And his what ifs, his regrets, his pain. The absolute loneliness. The desolation.

Miura said in one interview when he was talking about what ifs, that he thought a lot about what his life would have been like if he hadn’t met Koji Mori. And Mori himself had said on other occasions that if he hadn’t met Miura he would be in prison or dead.

There’s a certain melancholy in that kind of thought – the way your life might have collapsed if not for the sheer chance that you happened to come across, say, the right person or the right opportunity or the right moment that allowed you to evolve in a different direction.

Then there are the other kinds of what ifs - the ones where you wonder if your life could have been, would have been, better – happier, more successful, whatever – if you had taken one turn instead of another. We all have those thoughts, I think. And for me, it’s almost impossible to shake off the sadness in this one person’s story because... for someone whose life never amounted to anything except pain, there’s nothing but what ifs, right?

But.

He still had room for compassion. To recognize someone with the same pain and same terrible outcome as him – misshapen, rejected, about to die -- and offer them peace in their last moments.

After all that, when the Godhand offered him his wish... he said he wanted to create a better world.

....

Anyway back to things being horrifying.

I love this visual for how much the rising spirit flood resembles an enormous behelit apostle for a second there. And then comes....

Holy shit.

12. So I guess I talk about this a lot, but the Griffith and Guts parallels always stand out to me. Because like, the world itself is breaking right now because Griffith is on his way back into it, right? But Guts carries a similar effect around, doesn’t he? He warps reality wherever he goes because of the brands – the fact that he and Casca are in the same general area is part of the reason the area is being overrun by spirits to begin with and of course at the moment he’s breaking Farnese’s world, too. And obviously, the word used to describe Guts’ effect on Farnese is the same as the one used to describe Griffith’s effect on... polytheism I guess is really what it was.

Love the image of the Holy See symbol going up in flames as the last remnants of Farnese’s grip on the world she knew starts to come apart.

I mean one of the things that comes up Farnese is how much she’s changed but I guess that doesn’t really bother me because... okay thinking in like writer mode here... her fire fetish/fixation is established as being part of her effort to protect herself from her fear by embracing the things that frighten her, right? She makes the fire dance with her, and so she feels safe. That being the case it makes sense to me that her previous persona and most of her coping mechanisms fall apart when she abandons that metaphorical flame (and for an extra level of oho – her flame was the Holy See, the Holy See is essentially a church built around IoE and Griffith and of course Griffith is the inferno, yada yada).

Anyway so like, I don’t think it’s... psychologically accurate, but I do think it’s appropriate in the context of fiction, because fiction is a metaphor for life not an actual recreation of it, so in that sense its not uncommon for major life changes to happen as the result of an epiphanic moment. I feel like if this series were about Farnese you’d see her struggle with it more but as a secondary supporting character you don’t.

Miura talked about how he approached Guts vs apostles (and by extension pseudo apostles who honestly are even more innocent), and one of the things he said was that as the monsters grow closer to death their humanity comes out while Guts becomes more monstrous. And there is a catharsis in that moment where Guts’s monstrousness surpasses that of the monsters he’s killing. And ever since I read that, I’ve been thinking about it, and especially in stories like these because like...

Mozgus himself is what I’d call a fairly obvious villain right, like there’s no mistaking him for anything else despite his having what I would consider a genuine heaping dose of nuance. He’s basically a media portrayal of an inquisition priest – he believes in what he does and believes he is doing good, yet what he does is absolutely horrifying. That makes him an interesting character to me – honestly much more interesting than I’d remembered before I undertook this reread – but hes still basically a dick, I mean he’s too excited about torture to be anything else.

Where the grey morality really hits, though, is in his followers – his apostles I daresay lol. Because these are people who were ostracized and tormented by humanity – regarded as freaks and monsters – who found a purpose and hope through meeting this person who treated them as humans and brought them into the metaphorical light.

And the cruelty of the way Guts treats them – while not unjustified because they are in fact attacking him – is even so highlighted by things like...

The childlike face of this guy...

Who cries as he kills them. Or

The horribly mutilated corpses Guts leaves behind, or...

The soft humanity in the eyes of the bird-beaked one as he dies – notably the one we have the greatest connection to via Farnese having spoken to him and heard his story.

And again, it’s not like you can really condemn Guts for this – he’s trying to save Casca, and he’s defending himself, and they attacked him right? But at the same time, as @zombiesgohome just said as I’m typing this, you can totally see how Guts is the villain from their perspective. Which, of course, is what Miura suggested, too.

Meanwhile...

All hell breaks loose.

13. I’ve always found the implications that having two branded people in the same area kind of kickstarts all this destruction – and also contributes to Griffith’s return – interesting. Because Guts really... chooses to do that, right? He could have let Casca burn, but he didn’t. The Behelit Apostle notes that everything that happens contributes to that basically – even Luca accidentally contributed by bringing Casca there to begin with, and of course the jelly spirits are explicitly part of both the reincarnation and a side effect of Guts and Casca’s presence in the same general area.

Like I wonder what would have happened if Guts chose to let Casca die so that Griffith couldn’t come back. Would it happen anyway? I think the real answer is “Guts wouldn’t do that so it doesn’t matter” – that’s the real answer to most of these issues with “what would happen if destiny didn’t happen.”

But it’s interesting food for thought, like doesn’t that imply that Guts surviving really was part of the cosmic plan? That his refusal to bow to fate is part of Fate’s plan?

Chewy brain food, but in the meantime....

The wheel of fate keeps turning.

That’s where I’ll leave it I guess. This was a bit of a heavy one more in terms of my processing power (brainwise) than anything else, but....

Next up...CHAOS CHAOS CHAOS.

#berserk #rambles about berserk #ariel talks about berserk #berserk meta

21 notes · View notes